Fortune's Master
by Jayxaline
Summary: Harold Saxon is at the cusp of victory- mere days away from the election and everything's coming up Roses. The term however takes on new meaning when BAD WOLF appears before him- offering him up a deal: He saves her from burning up and she takes away The Drums. However unforeseen consequences complicate the transaction and they find themselves unintentionally, permanently bound.
1. Smoke, Sex and Politics

Harold Saxon groaned as he stepped outside into the cool night air, fingers pinching the bridge of his nose as he tried to keep his raging headache under control, to no avail.

He loved politics. It was one of the only worthwhile things these creatures _had_ on this piss-poor excuse for a planet (that, and greasy food).

He thrived with politics, no matter the species- it was all the same in the end. Strategy, manipulation, charm and backstabbing, in order to succeed- all things he highly excelled at. The politics _here_ however, while falling under the same principles as everywhere else, were lacking in a...sophistication. It was like playing chess with a child: predictable, with seldom worthwhile strokes of originality to add to the mix, and more often than not, you found yourself teaching them the game.

Such was the case with humans and politics. _These_ were the best minds Britain could come up with? It was _insulting_. It would have all been so much more interesting if humans weren't all such complete imbeciles; honestly, sometimes he wondered if it were even worth it.

He found himself constantly having to remind himself what this was all for- and relished the day when each and every one of these miserable creatures would be groveling at his feet. Only a week away now. That's what he had to keep telling himself, every time he felt like leaping across the table and strangling one of these apes, '_only a week_', '_only a week_', then he could kill them freely. In fact, he probably wouldn't even _need_ to- they'd be killing themselves if he asked them to- hell, they'd be kissing his feet- metaphorically speaking; the idea of one of those vile swine actually _touching_ him he found rather repulsive. It was bad enough dealing with Lucy.

Lucy had been a necessary evil, unfortunately.

She had been so, incredibly simple- even by human standards, her intellect left something desired. But she was appealing enough to look at, for a human, and more importantly: it provided him with the funds necessary to procure his position.

He just wished that she wasn't so..._needy_.

It was _embarrassing_.

Even now, standing out in the cold because it was the absolute _only _way to get away from those droning morons, in temperatures no human could tolerate for longer than a few minutes, he knew that if he waited, she would follow; and she would stand outside with him as long as he wished, risking hypothermia and potentially even her eventual demise, just to prove her loyalty, just to receive some scrap of praise. It was pathetic.

Not that it had always been such a chore. It had been fun at first; finding and stalking his prey. The requirements weren't steep.

Female (it was the early twenty-first century after all and humans were still a bit traditional in their ways. But he supposed it was only to be expected that they'd lack flexibility with their limiting reproductive systems).

Wealthy, another obvious attribute, there would be no point otherwise.

And ideally, Attractive- or attractive enough by human standards that society would find her appealing and endearing, furthering his favor. Nothing was more appealing than a young and in love, ambitious, newlywed couple, and he'd _seen_ the other candidates wife- it wouldn't be difficult to find someone more aesthetically pleasing than _that. _

And then he met Lucy.

Lucy, was perfect.

Lucy Cole, youngest daughter of Lord Cole of Tarminster. Good roots, plenty of money, and noted in school (if her marks were anything to go by) as not particularly bright. Pretty, too, a tremendous plus. It had been _so_ easy with her. Young and attractive in his own right in this new form, it had been so _unbelievably_ easy. Being the youngest child, and the only one not married to a successful entrepreneur or lawyer, with no success or promise of her own, she was already cast in an exceptional shadow.

She was already broken when he found her.

All it took was a little attention, a few strings pulled to assist her father in his financial and political ventures (to win over the family), and she did the rest. Within five months (the first few spent climbing the social ladder as Minister of Defense and writing and publishing his Autobiography to establish roots) they were married.

She was the perfect female specimen to examine in thorough detail and assisted him greatly in understanding the human psyche. From her he learned precisely what the general populace was looking for, and more importantly, their strengths and their weaknesses. He _did _have to, after all, thank her for the most brilliant part of his master plan: The Archangel Network. Where would he be if it weren't for Lucy and her _damn_ mobile? Those apes were absolutely _obsessed_ with them; carrying them around everywhere, storing all of their most important and vital information on them, to the extent that they were, in a very real sense, completely lost without them. He had already found enough uses in tracking humans and obtaining personal information on them using this knowledge, but he wanted to utilize it _further_.

So, in the end, it was really because of his dear wife that he thought to create the Archangel Network at all.

To Lucy, he was loving, attentive, charming; he spoiled her with shiny trinkets, listened politely in conversation as she droned on for hours about completely banal things; her family _adored_ him _and_ he had more knowledge of the human anatomy than even humans did at this point. In all, he was the perfect husband. By the time they were married, she was so enamoured with him that he could probably have asked her to slit her own wrists for him if he had a viable reason for her to do so. So there was little fuss when he revealed to her his master plan and his true identity. In fact, all it took was a page from The Doctor's book:

He took her on a trip in the TARDIS.

After that, he was seen as the enigmatic, handsome alien who sought to make the world a better place, and who trusted her solely with his secret identity. He had learned from The Doctor that the concept for humans was so romantic by itself, that he really didn't need to put in more effort than that. He dazzled her with seeing the End of the Universe- and despite the horror that it was, it was magical to her. She willingly became his volunteer, her broken mind so malleable and impressionable, that it took no time at all- fortunate, since his original plan had been to simply kill her. But she had made it so much simpler, and it was so much more fun to convert her.

However, months dragged on, and soon he found her becoming a nuisance. The revelation of his identity she seemed to misinterpret as a sign of confidence; that it somehow strengthened their relationship- and suddenly she was _everywhere_; trailing him like a mutt. What was worse, was the less he payed attention to her, the more she seemed to do it. And whenever he told her quite frankly to piss off, he would be forced to deal, then, with her _emotions_. He began envisioning ways to kill her- a past time that cheered him up tremendously. It became a routine; any time he was forced to be in her company (during meals, generally, and at night on those rare occasions he slept or was forced to perform more mundane marital tasks because apparently it was expected of him- no matter how vulgar those particular tasks were with a human, at least it let him take his aggression out on something) he would imagine the numerous ways in which he could kill her. As time passed, they became progressively creative, until the plots were nearly as intricate as his entire plan for taking over Earth was.

It also proved a favorable way to pass time when dealing with humans in general- an event he found unpleasantly increasing in frequency. They were always fun at first; he relished meeting new people- discovering their weaknesses, their insecurities and how to exploit them. Psychological warfare, after all, was a personal favorite of his, and he loved bringing someone down with a single sentence. However, he began to see patterns, and learned quickly that there was a general _type_- only a few groupings of individuals and once he learned the patterns, he learned them as a whole. After that, things stopped being as fun and everything became rather _dull_.

So, he came to the same resolve he had with Lucy.

By the time he had stepped out of yet another political meeting, where they once again ran his numbers, talked strategy, and made stupid suggestions for how to increase publicity (did they _really_ need to have _another _meetings about that? It seemed rather obvious to him, and he found little point. His numbers were off the charts, and there was absolutely no doubt who would be winning that election- the opponent could be the humans' own fucking messiah and he would still win) he had already devised seven ways to kill each and every individual in the room, and ten ways to do so collectively. He was really favoring the idea of asphyxiation for The Board. At first, he had thought dismemberment- it would certainly be more fun, but the cleanup would be _messy_, and he had _just_ rebuilt and redesigned the place- that, and he doubted the clean up crew would live long enough to replace all of the carpeting and repaint the walls...

So he stepped out, using his favored of plausible excuses:

and lit a match.

That was another thing he rather enjoyed- cigarettes. He had to give some credit to whoever it was to decide to create cigarettes. Here they had a perfectly repugnant item, that encourages humans to partake in a rather unpleasant task of voluntarily inhaling smoke- and along with it, the addictive substance nicotine. To the extent that, even if they initially find the act unpleasant, the nicotine would later make them dependent on it, the deprivation being the key, so that when they decided to have another go, the relief of fulfilling that need would release chemicals from the pleasure centers of the brain, encouraging them to repeat the process. What he relished even more, was that the whole entire, unnecessary act was slowly _killing_ them- and the whole time, they would be _enjoying_ it. Brilliant, really, and he absolutely loved it.

For Time Lords, it was, naturally, different. After all, they wouldn't be the advanced species they were if a small amount of smoke in their lungs were enough to end them. It was just a simple matter of their respiratory bypass systems kicking in, the smoke being naturally filtered, broken down and eliminated like any other non-inhalable substance, meanwhile, he could enjoy the more pleasurable aspect as the calming effect of the action overtook him, knowing that he could reverse his enzymes and rid himself of the nicotine induced effects at any time- the portion of the time that it actually affected him. He also found it an incredibly useful pastime, as it was seen as perfectly acceptable to step out at absolutely any time, to smoke. As he did now.

The Master sighed as he expelled the smoke into the air, pulling away the cigarette to examine it curiously. Such a simple thing. It calmed The Drums too...just a bit. That was another nuisance, The Drums- though it was something he had learned to live with, most days. Today, unfortunately, hadn't been one of those days, and as the cold air brushed against his skin, the hot smoke filling his cool interior, billowing out from between his pursed lips, The Drums beat steadily.

He groaned and leaned against one of the pillars, his idle hand subconsciously tapping out a familiar rhythm onto his thigh. They had reached an unbearable volume in that confined space and seemed to have been growing louder the closer _the day_ came, urging him forward. Leaving the room hadn't help much, unfortunately, but at least, for the moment, he was away from _them_.

Abruptly, his fingers froze in their repetitive movement, the hairs standing up on the backs of his hands. He could feel it, the prominent shift of the Timestream. Something was here that shouldn't be...

He frowned, dropping his cigarette and smudging it out with the heel of his shoe, eyes darting around, alert. Could _He_ have possibly arrived already? No, it was far too soon- he wasn't expecting Him for at least a few more days- Martha Jones hadn't even left her flat yet. He knew, he had someone keeping tabs. He straightened, eyes closing and he concentrated on stretching out his mind to the general proximity around him, trying to feel for another source...

The first clump he came to was directly behind and above him. All very low level readings from non-telepathic beings; _barely_ intelligent to even register at all. His mind continued to drift to the people in the halls and the lower levels... no, it wasn't anybody there. Next were the neighboring buildings. Plenty of innocent humans, blissfully unaware of the wolf next door-

Hardly had that thought crossed his mind that he felt a spark of energy shoot up and he turned his head, opening his eyes, his attention focused on the alleyway across the street. How could he have missed it before? There it was, plain as day, a telepathic reading far superior to anything anywhere nearby- or anything anywhere, for that matter. He fixed on it, zeroing in, his mind stretching, trying to delve into their subconscious;

_Who are you..._

No sooner had he barely caressed the outside of their mental perimeter, that he felt a violent whiplash and stumbled backwards, the force almost physical. He gaped at the darkened area. Something was certainly there, something far more powerful than The Doctor could ever be...

He found his feet already taking him across the street before he had even registered his own movement, a combination of curiosity and fascination drawing him towards the source, that only seemed to grow in power the closer he came, until he was right at the mouth of the alleyway.

He sucked in breath at what he saw.

It wasn't difficult to pinpoint the source after he had entered the alleyway. The source in question was glowing like a beacon, and he continued to walk forward, like a moth to a flame, eyes unblinking, though he didn't dare reach out telepathically anymore, and it didn't take any telepathic reading to see that this entity before him was a being of pure power- power he was immediately and instinctively attracted to. It wasn't, however, until he was much closer that he began to make out a form in the middle of all that light- and began to register what exactly that light was, and why something so incredibly bright hadn't been noticed by any old human passing by.

It was a woman. A human woman- or at least appeared to be one. She certainly wasn't a Time Lord; he wouldn't have needed to seek her out if that had been the case, and there were only so many species who looked exactly as they did. But she couldn't have _possibly_ been a human. Never, in his many centuries, had he _ever_ seen a human that looked like _this. _If he had, he might have developed an interest for them much sooner.

No, this female (that much was certain) held the appearance of a woman; completely naked, and anatomically human, with long golden hair, floating around her in wisps, emitting an array of light, only rivaled by the glow of her body. That was where the similarities ended, however. While she, herself, glowed, what was far more entrancing was the source of the beacon, and the evidence that whatever she was, certainly wasn't human at all.

Time Signatures. The most unusual he had ever seen; wrapped around and caressed her body delicately, glowing a pure, untainted gold, in place of the colors most frequently associated with them. What was fascinating, apart from the color, was how incredibly simple they were. Humans had simple time traces to begin with- a single timeline that wrapped around them and an assortment of layers to that single timestream, created from individual strands, and the occasional knot whenever they came across a fixed point. The layers varied, depending on how exciting or complex the humans' life was, but generally didn't stretch far beyond that. It was the reason that they had been taken to examine humans when studying in the academy. They were a very basic, non telepathic, level 5 planet, that didn't discover extensive space travel until the late 28th century and limited time travel in the 51st century. Thus making them very easy to use as a basis when teaching aspiring Time Lords how to read Time Signatures.

Occasionally, you would find a slightly more complex Time Signature whenever a time-traveling human came into play, but even then, even with decades of time-travel, they were still relatively easy to read. That _Freak_ had been different. His Timeline snarled around him, Time Traces ensnaring him in a massive, tangled, convoluted knot that made him painful to look at. The entire thing was a complete mess, his Timeline wrapped around in such a way that it was practically constricting him (he wished it would). It hadn't necessarily been _difficult_ to read, but it had been painful- very painful, just to look at; he couldn't even fathom trying to make sense out of that chaos. In fact, the only action it instilled in him was the intense desire to kill him as soon as possible, so that, for a brief second, the Time Traces would vanish entirely and he'd have a moment of peace- before it popped back up again, as hideous and obnoxious as ever. The idea that The Doctor could ever stand to _befriend_ something as _vile_ as that was beyond him.

That Freak, was the closest comparison he could make to the entity before him. However, the comparison did it no justice, if only to compare opposite sides of the spectrum. Where The Freak's Timeline had been hideous and complicated and unbearable to look at, her's was simple and elegant and mesmerizing. Where his' had been wound so tightly around him The Master wondered how he could possibly breathe, her's was draped around her, worn as one would wear jewelry, though equally secure. His were a repulsive mess, while her's, equally complex once he was close enough to see them fully, her's had a sort of pattern to them, intricately woven and intermingling with one another, to make solid, definite structures. What they had in common, despite their very apparent differences, was that both looked completely unalterable, and both glowed the same, unshakable gold, that in her case, had him utterly transfixed.

He hadn't realized how close he had gotten to her until he looked up, away from the Time Traces that curled around her, to the source itself. He found himself backing away abruptly at the close proximity- only a foot or two away. What had him most shaken, however, were the eyes. Golden, glowing eyes, brighter than the Time Traces, brighter than her skin or hair, boring into him like nothing else ever could.

And The Drums _flared_.

Their beat was suddenly thunderous, pounding away so loudly that he felt his very being throbbing in the same tempo, his hearts ramming into his ribcage, his breathing shaky. He recognized those eyes- eyes that weren't eyes at all, but tunnels, tunnels to something very, _very_ familiar- something that had haunted his dreams since he had first looked upon it.

_The Untempered Schism. _

He wanted to back away, he wanted to shout he wanted to run, but he somehow found himself, much like before, glued to the very same spot, petrified, as the creature before him made up the distance, stepping forward and raising one of her lean arms towards him.

He flinched, as though scalded, as her hand delicately cupped the side of his face, her eyes still fixedly on his'. He hadn't realized until she knelt to touch him that he had somehow fallen to his knees, shaking uncontrollably and babbling, pleading for The Drums to stop.

"_Koschei..."_ A voice spoke- her voice, it had to be. An inhuman, celestial tone, both beautiful and terrifying, echoed around and enveloped him, so that he couldn't tell if she was truly speaking at all, or if she, too, was in his head. It had already occurred to him to wonder if this all wasn't just a concoction of his own growing insanity. Either way, her uttering that name shook him to the core- enough to be temporarily pulled out of her ensnaring transe-

"WHAT _ARE _YOU?!" He shouted, all volume control trivial in face of this..._thing_.

The thing in question, stroked his cheek, still staring at him, her face expressionless- or from what he could make of it, his eyes still unable to pull away completely from hers'. He shouldn't have been surprised that she didn't answer his question.

"_You have been alone for so long..._

_Abandoned for so long..._

_Forgotten, for so long..." _

The voice spoke again, echoing upon itself, though each word was clear and concise. He was visibly shaking now, trembling at her touch, The Drums were screaming at him, pounding and thrashing around in his skull, his every molecule, every atom, pulsing and throbbing in time with it. It was only then, that he realized he was crying.

"Please...please...make it stop..."He begged, unable to hear his own voice, only aware that he had spoken at all by the movement of his mouth and the slight vibration in his throat. He was faintly aware of her fingers running up and down his cheek, before cupping it once more and tilting his head slightly upward. Somehow, this caused him to see her countenance in an entirely new light, and the expression she bore was no longer peaceful, but very clearly displeased.

"_You were forged so young..._

_The perfect weapon..._

_The perfect tool..._

_Left to rust as centuries passed you by..._

_Awaiting a time in which you could once more be valuable..._

_A cruel fate for anyone, forsaken by your own kind."_

Her hand moved again, tilting his head with it and suddenly her face was no longer cruel, but impassive once more.

"_I could make them stop..." _Her fingers tapped out the rhythm on his cheek, in perfect time with the pounding in his head.

"Can you hear them?" He asked, desperately. To his surprise, the Goddess- for that's what she _must _be, smiled. A small, thin, barely present smile, but one nonetheless.

"_I can make them go away...I can give you your freedom..._"

"Please..." He begged. It was foolish and it was feeble, and if he had been capable of thinking, he would have questioned the offer more, would have been certain that the entity before him was a figment of his own instability, the stress or boredom of the position he was currently holding in this tiny human world. But he couldn't think, he couldn't _hear_- the only sound he _could_ hear was The Drums and Her.

"_My gift is not one of charity..." _The woman spoke, and this time, her lips moved, and though the echo remained, it was less prominent than before. Abruptly, her glowing eyes dimmed, gold giving way to a darker, kinder, brown- breaking him away from her spell, the drums quieting. "_I ask a favor in return..." _He met her eyes and felt for once that he was truly seeing her, his mind functioning and processing what precisely she had said.

"Anything." He replied, and he meant it. He couldn't conceive a single thing he wouldn't be willing to do to get rid of them. Again, he was permitted a small smile, this time, however, there was something...softer about it- _human_...He was so distracted by the expression that he hadn't noticed her fingers move to touch either side of his temple. He froze, fear lapsing over him as the brown melded away, once more shifting to gold, The Drums growing with it. However, as The Drums grew to their peak, he was distantly aware of another sound accompanying them- quiet at first, but growing as they had. A melody...a soft, subtle melody that seemed to grow in strength as the woman before him began to glow.

The song cascaded over them like a heavy body of water, colliding against them and through them, and swiftly drowning them out as the most beautiful sound he had ever heard caressed his ears. He sucked in air as he identified the song, though he had never heard this particular one before, and found he never wished to hear any other again.

"Impossible..." He breathed in awe, his eyes able to pull away from hers' to trace over her features. He had seen them in many forms, but never, _never_ in a human body. His head was now filled with the glorious sound, not even a trace of The Drums left behind in their wake, and he let out a slight sob of relief- even if the sound was traded for another, he would have traded it for anything, to rid him of that beat. The word seemed to amuse the entity, for again he was graced with the smallest of smiles and a flash of brown, and a sound- a sound so unmistakably _not_ celestial in the slightest. A small, brief, musical laugh; gone before he could fixate on it, but enough to once again snap him out of his trance, so he could again look this creature over; this glowing being before him, the smallest Time Traces around her now very gently uncoiling to experimentally wrap around his own, her eyes dimmer than they had been, and looking at him in a way he couldn't recall a single soul _ever_ looking at him.

He felt the pressure from her fingertips relax slightly, one trailing down to his jaw and tilting his head up to once more look into her golden orbs- except this time, no drums followed.

"_I will return to you, at the cusp before the fall;_

_When all lies in ruin, and defeat is in sight._

_I will request of you, an item of great value,_

_And I will ask of you, my favor. _

_Only once my measures are met, _

_will I grant you what you long for perpetually..."_

She pulled both of her hands away abruptly, stepping back from him and the music ceased, filling him with an eerie silence he could not recall ever experiencing before. It sent chills down his spine when accompanied with her steely glare.

"_I have provided you a day of peace to contemplate my words..._

_If you wish The Drums gone, you need only ask..." _

Before he managed to inquire- to demand she tell him _who _she was, _how _she could take away the drums and _why _she couldn't take them away that minute, she stepped further back, glowing much brighter now, so much so that it began to obscure her body from view entirely. Without another word, she glanced over once more at him, then dissolved into an array of golden dust, floating and spiraling upward before vanishing entirely.

The Master was left alone to gape openly at the spot where she had been, the surrounding area suddenly so much darker in her absence- and everything around him suddenly so much _louder_ than he recalled it being before. He could hear the wind rustling the trees across the street, a car door closing a good block away, and the clicking of heels on pavement as Lucy exited the building- he could hear the air being compressed as the door closed behind her -_the air_! He couldn't recall _ever_ hearing that before!

And then it hit him.

It hit him so abruptly that he felt like a complete imbecile for not having realized it before.

The Drums were gone.

He let out a slight, disbelieving laugh as he spun around to observe the opposing side of the street, the sound of his heel scraping against cement as she turned, music to his ears. He let out another laugh, this one more identifiable than the last one, his eyes stinging as relief and joy flooded him and suddenly he felt the undeniable impulse to shout from sheer exhilaration- so he did- a loud, ecstatic whoop.

"Harry?" He heard Lucy's voice call, uncertainly, from across the street. He bounded out of the alleyway and towards her, eager to share the news with someone and caring very little that the someone in particular happened to be her. He was so incredibly happy, that he actually hugged her. And for a blissful night, he slept peacefully; and for a blissful day, he found himself smiling at every ape that strolled down the halls, greeting them all merrily, for once with genuine cheer. He finished all of the menial paperwork on his desk with a smile on his face and delightedly chatted about his day to Lucy at dinner when she inquired. That night, he wasn't nearly as begrudging with his marital chores, even if she _was_ that much louder; and that night, afterward, he didn't shove her away when she snuggled up close to him, and permitted himself, once more, a peaceful, dreamless sleep.

The Drums returned the following morning.


	2. A Wolf at The Door

The Toclafane whirred over his head, their high pitched buzzing echoing in the cold, stale night air as they spread out to cover the perimeter. The Master made his way down the deserted street at a leisurely pace, a couple of soldiers scattering around him for backup- not that he'd need it, the Toclafane were resourceful and already had the buildings in question targeted.

Did they honestly think they were _hiding _from him?

He could easily detect their brain signals with little effort- a nice big clump of them somewhere around here- The Drums, unfortunately, had chosen this day of all days to act up again, and they were dulling his other sensing in the most inconvenient way. He knew that on one of his better days, he would have been able to hear them murmuring, and _still _could make out the occasional yelp of their panic. However, he _could _still _smell_ them. Humans normally stank bad enough to begin with; naturally emitting a truly obscene amount of pheromones into the atmosphere. Mix that with their body washes, deodorants, perfumes and colognes and you've got a prominent, nauseating compilation that could be made out a mile away. _This_ though, he couldn't decide what was worse- a regular, chemical-covered human, or these grime-covered, unbathed ones that positively _reeked_. He didn't need to locate their brain signatures to find them, all he had to do was sniff.

No, he was _letting_ them live. He had _always_ been _allowing_ them to live- because he knew that if he allowed a nice little nest of humans to congregate in London (trimming the fat when necessary, to instill fear, keep order, and assure there wouldn't be an uprising) that one Martha Jones would eventually return, that cozy little nest being the ideal spot. In the end, he hadn't even needed the Toclafane to guide him, he made his way right there.

Things were _finally_ all coming together- this was the endgame, and Martha Jones was finally back in his clutches, just as he knew she would be- she could never leave her family for long. Or The Doctor. He wondered briefly if he should as _him_ how he tolerated the stench? He decided he'd come back to it later, right now, there were far more important things to attend to.

"Martha?" He called, his voice cutting into the night air, "Martha Jo-_ones_!" Excitement bubbled at the surface, ready to irrupt- he could sense them trembling, all of them, packed together in their tiny houses like an infestation of rats. He could take care of it later- or not; after all, he wasn't planning a genocide; if he killed them all, who would he rule? Better to just kill their idols, their hope, until they eventually _broke_.

"I can _see _you!" His voice rang out in a high falsetto, echoing off of the decrepit buildings, before switching back to his regular tone, "Out you come, little girl. Come and meet your Master."

He waited a beat.

"Anybody?" He asked, innocently, his head darting around at the buildings individually, "Nobody? No? Nothing?" He straightened up- well, looked like he'd have to use the apes after all. "Positions." He ordered, an array of sound filling the air as, in unison, his soldiers cocked their guns. He _did_ very much appreciate that sound- there was power in a sound that could trigger fear like that did- and he could smell it now, too, leaking out of them- mixed with..._saline_. Good. "I'll give the order unless you surrender." He warned, taking a few more steps, "Ask yourself...what would The Doctor do?"

Now all he had to do was wait.

It didn't take long.

A matter of seconds- record time. If anything, he had expected a little bit more fight out of her; but, he supposed, put human lives on the line and you're promised five-star, expedient service.

"Oh yes!" He praises, clapping enthusiastically, "Good girl!" He stopped the clapping to smile at her as one would a rather dim-witted dog, finally broken into pissing outside. " He trained you well."

Right, no sense wasting anymore time, he was on a deadline after all.

"Bag. Give me the bag." He ordered, Martha stepping forward slightly. "No, stay there. Just throw it." Martha obeyed, tossing the bag as The Master reached into his coat pocket, removing his laser screwdriver and pointing it at the bag, destroying the contents with a single, well placed shot, then turned to Martha. "And now, good companion, your work here is done." He held up the screwdriver again, this time pointing it at The Doctor's newest pet- when he was rudely interrupted by a pedestrian, bursting through the same door Martha had come from, yelling in protest and aiming wildly at him.

Well, if he insisted.

Without batting an eye, The Master redirected his aim and shot at the obnoxious vigilante, and watched as the man crumpled to the floor with a final, pathetic shout. The Master gave a slight laugh. Yes, that was much better, quite fun actually. He laughed again, looking over to see Martha's reaction. Glaring. Oh, she was no fun at all. Well, it was for the best anyway, he had better plans for her.

"But you...when you die, The Doctor should be witness, hm?"

Martha continued to glare reproachfully, still no fun then, no matter.

The Master inhaled deeply, smelling the light tang of the air around him, prominent, even if laced with the foul stench of human.

"Almost dawn, Martha, and planet Earth marches to war." He motioned to a few of the soldiers, who took the silent order, immediately approaching Martha, weapons still raised, and proceeded to cuff her. He gave her a small smile as the handcuffs clicked into place, Martha wincing at the tight grip as they shoved her forward and into the back of their van. The Master made to follow, however, something caught his eye...

He turned to glance behind him, on full alert now, at the empty street. Martha _had_ come rather easily- was there perhaps, someone else, waiting in the shadows?

He glanced back over at the vans at the sound of one loudly closing, the other soldiers gathering up and getting in the other, the Toclafane circling them overhead. One soldier remained diligently at his side- he appreciated that- perhaps he would keep this one around a little longer...

His breathing hitched as the hairs on the back of his hands and neck raised, a prickling skimming down his spine. The sensation was vaguely familiar, and he tried to recollect where exactly he had experienced a similar situation. Something was out of Time...causing the fluctuating timelines tension...

The sensation became more pronounced, and with it, The Drums grew and suddenly, he recalled where he remembered that feeling from.

He quickly dismissed the soldier, instead summoning one of the Toclafane to his side to keep an eye out for any other interfering civilians. He then slowly, cautiously, turned around once more.

His blood ran cold.

She was standing there, down the street, a ways off from the others, but very clearly visible and very clearly glowing, the time traces circling her torso and limbs lazily, practically glittering. He glanced over his shoulder as the van with Martha in it took off, all that remained was his personal ride. However, no one seemed to have noticed the figure in the distance- in fact, the soldier that had been guarding him until a moment ago had been facing her directly, and hadn't given the slightest indication.

Did that make him mad? (More so than before, at least.)

Or did that simply make her powerful?

She looked identical to how he had seen her before. Still completely naked, long golden hair floating around her as though she were submerged under water, glowing, along with her skin, in a celestial fashion, efficiently taking his breath away- if only for a moment.

He had forgotten about her...

_How_ could he have _possibly _forgotten about her?

His feet began to make the trek towards her, once again, before he was even conscious of moving. He was still utterly baffled by this strange anomaly, and the closer he came to her, the more and more he remembered, until, finally, her final words to him rang through his head:

"_I will return to you, at the cusp before the fall;_

_When all lies in ruin, and defeat is in sight._

_I will request of you, an item of great value,_

_And I will ask of you, my favor. _

_Only once my measures are met, _

_will I grant you what you long for perpetually..."_

Suddenly he was less enthusiastic to see her, his steps slowing as he finally came to a relatively closer distance, a few yards away.

"Why are you here?"

"_I have returned for you." _replied The Goddess, calmly.

"Yes, well as you can see, not exactly in need of your help now." He pointed out, impatient, today, for her cryptic messages. This, unfortunately, seemed to be the wrong answer, because suddenly he fell to his knees, screaming as The Drums abruptly roared through his head, louder than they had been in _months_. The woman was glowing severely again, her golden eyes boring into his, once again paralyzing him, her face no longer impassive.

"_Your arrogance is ill placed, Timelord! You are foolish to believe that I come for your gain! An agreement has been reached and I intend to ensure that you fulfil your end!" _Her voice demanded, echoing once more in its' horrific beauty. The Master was still screaming, holding his hands to his ears, bending over in pain,. In spite of this, every word of the woman's was clear. The Toclafane immediately flew forward, whirring off alarms, blades drawn, intent on attacking the enemy.

Barely had it reached her proximity, that The Goddess leisurely raised her hand, palm open in its' direction. The Master watched, half in horror, half in awe, as The Goddess closed her palm, the Toclafane glowing gold before being crushed into nothing more than dust. Her eyes then fell back onto The Master, a stern expression on her face.

"_Do not think, Timelord, that you will not meet the same fate."_ She warned.

"Who are you?" The Master managed, still on his knees, staring up at this enigma, a truly _immense_ amount of energy radiating off her- it was..._intoxicating_. Already his mind was racing, as his fascination with this creature before him grew.

"_I am BAD WOLF, and I will absolve the false gods. Do you wish to oppose me?" _She threatened. The Master couldn't help but smile in the close proximity of something so clearly _powerful_. The idea that a creature like this was interested in _him_, well, that was just all the more fun.

"No, not at all." He breathed, slowly standing. The Drums had lessened slightly, enough so that, while still a nuisance, they were no longer of any pain. "You..." He continued, still gazing at this being in complete awe, eyes trailing over her Time Traces like others might trail over her naked body, finally raising once more to meet her golden eyes. "You are the most beautiful thing I have ever known..." He replied, genuinely. And it was true. In his time, traveling every inch of the universe he could reach- and others, on occasion, if the mood struck- he had seen the most peculiar and incredible sights they had to offer. He had seen things that claimed to be gods and he had seen creatures of pure evil. He had seen things he had only ever read about in textbooks, and more recently, he had the displeasure of coming into contact with That _Freak_ that traveled with The Doctor. But of absolutely everything in every universe he had traversed, not once, had he ever come across _anything_ quite like her. And he knew immediately, that he wanted to make her his, so for now he'd play her game. "What do you want from me?"

"_This mortal form is dying..."_ Bad Wolf replied, "_soon, she will burn and I will return to the Vortex."_

"Which I assume is a bad thing." The Master replied, lightly, hands going to the pockets of his coat, casually. "Let me guess, you want me to fix you? Why me?"

"_Your species is knowledgeable in ways of this creature- you recognize her?"_

"Yes..." The Master replied, slowly, "but I don't quite understand- she's impossible- in a body like that- she should have already burned through it."

"_And with my power, she will..."_

"But what I _really _don't get- apart from that-" He added, gloved hand moving from his pocket to wave up and down, gesturing at her, " is that if you're supposed to be some all powerful '_god_'- surely you know how to solve your own problems?" He pointed out, his fear abated now that she clearly didn't intend to crush him into a dusty pulp anytime soon.

"_Yes, but have little means for such intricacies."_

"Ah, more for the _big bold _statements, hm? I knew I liked you." He replied with a grin, which quickly fell as another thought resurfaced that had been niggling at him since he first came across her. "But why _me_? Sounds to me like you need a _Doctor_." He stated, enunciating the word very pointedly. Again, he seemed to have struck a nerve, because the Goddess's entire calm countenance changed in an instant, once more emitting immense power, flooded with rage as she proclaimed:

"_**MY DOCTOR**_ _IS __**DEAD.**_" She roared, her voice abruptly clearer at the statement, her golden eyes flashing brown, and he was surprised to notice tear tracks he hadn't observed before, surprising him almost more than her statement.

"What?" He found himself asking, stunned- could he have possibly been mistaken? Had something happened in the time that he had left his captive alone? "How?" How could he have possibly _escaped_? He could _barely lift himself up! _

"_It is inconsequential to you.."_ She snapped, angrily.

"Inconsequential!" The Master couldn't help replying, indignantly- he was stalled, however, by her next words, her voice once more dispassionate, the tear tracks vanishing without a trace. "_He does not wish for the assistance you seek."_

"_Ah_, fair play?" The Master replied, finally comprehending _that_ much at least, "so you want a trade? I fix you, you fix me? Is that it?"

Bad Wolf simply stared at him.

"I still don't know what it is you expect me to do." He pointed out, motioning at her up and down again.

"_You must close the door."_ Bad Wolf stated. And that was exactly what it was, a statement. _Rassilon_ he hated cryptic statements- it felt rather condescending, something he could do without.

"Sorry?" He asked, leaning forward as if he hadn't heard. Again, potentially the wrong move, as without warning, without visible movement, Bad Wolf was before him, golden coils flaring. Her hands immediately darted up and grasped his temples, pressing against them hard enough that he was certain they would bruise.

He screamed at the abrupt pain as he was, without prior forewarning or consent, pulled forward into what he assumed must be Bad Wolf's consciousness- his own flooded with a brilliant, fierce, burning light, like nothing he had ever experienced before- The Drums pounding hard enough to very well split his head open- momentarily blinded by cerebral overstimulation.

_Close the door..._

He heard a voice state, but it was very different than the one he had been conversing with previously. No echo enshrouded this one. It was pure- innocent, even _vulnerable_, and very, _very_ human. And in place of The Drums, a familiar, sweet, hauntingly beautiful melody began to seep into the back of his mind; quiet, and much weaker than before, but growing stronger. And as it grew, the light relinquished, until he could make out a figure, approaching him with the growing music. He was taken slightly off guard when the source became fully visible.

A girl.

And ordinary, human girl. He recognized her as the woman he had been conversing with previously- but in spite of the body they shared, they could not appear more different. Unlike her celestial counterpart, this girl was completely average in appearance- and not even spectacularly attractive for her species. She bore no ethereal glow, her skin dull in comparison; dressed in a simple, pale pink hoodie and baggy, worn jeans. Her hair didn't cascade down her shoulders, glowing as brightly as the time traces that surrounded her; instead, it was cut short at the shoulders, pale and lifeless, with thick dark eyebrows and very prominent, dark roots, betraying her natural color.

She had very pronounced, strong features- overly emphasized unintentionally by the overabundance of makeup she wore- caked on white powder to conceal blemishes, dark pink lipstick highlighting her very wide mouth, pouting lips and what appeared to be a slight overbite. And most noticeable, were her eyes, rimmed heavily with dark eyeliner and mascara that clumped sloppily on her eyelashes, bordering boring brown irises. In other words, a perfectly average human.

Despite her clearly unremarkable nature, there was still a very prominent feel of...uniqueness to her. Something The Master couldn't quite place. He did, however, get a new inclination as he examined the light that surrounded her; gold time signatures webbing themselves throughout her head. Now that he was able to examine them more closely, he became aware of another, fainter signature among the mixture- not gold, but a faint, delicate fuchsia; interwoven throughout the gold; and so heavily embedded that he couldn't possibly detect where the gold ended and the pink began.

"You." The Master spoke, his attention once more turning to the girl. "Who are you?"

He expected some sort of cryptic message- after how he'd been addressed by Bad Wolf, he had no reason to suspect that the riddles were over quite yet. However, instead, the girl simply smiled, and he noted how the smallest gesture managed to completely transform her otherwise awkward features. Somehow, the expression balanced them out, all strong features fitting together peculiarly perfectly, her entire face lighting up. When she spoke, her voice wasn't strong as Bad Wolf's had been, but gentle, quiet, as though it hadn't been used for a very long time.

"Rose Tyler." She said, simply, as though the name alone was enough. And on any other day, two years ago, or centuries prior, it wouldn't have been. But today... today it spoke _volumes_ and The Master found himself laughing out in delight and surprise.

"Of course you are." He replied, that final piece of the puzzle sliding into place. "Rose Tyler. The faithful companion who swallowed Time whole- looked into the heart of the TARDIS and absorbed the Time Vortex. For one small moment, you held all of Time itself in the palm of your hand..." The Master mused, holding out his own palm and glancing at it thoughtfully, "All the wisdom of Omega and an eye Rassilon would envy. All that _power _at your fingertips...enough to destroy a Dalek Fleet- enough to end the Time War..." He muttered, longingly, closing his hand slowly into a fist and letting it fall to his side, looking back up at her in wonder. "I was _so_ hoping to meet you." He added, excitedly, rocking back on his heels, grinning. "Imagine how heartbroken I was when I learned you had been trapped in a parallel universe! How _did _you manage to get back?"

Rose Tyler crossed her arms in front of her chest, smirking at him in amusement and cocking an eyebrow as she observed him. She let out an exaggerated sigh and shrug, before replying sarcastically:

"Oh, you know- faith, trust an' pixie dust- all a girl really ever needs."

The Master let out a bark of surprised laughter.

"Ooh you're _fun_! I haven't met anyone fun in _centuries_!"

"I'd imagine not." She replied, not looking entirely amused.

"It's not like I haven't _tried _to make it fun for them!" He continued, " There's the morning death count and affirmation- Keep them active, with 'Toclafane Tag', I even started a 'Telly Tuesday'- mostly gameshows- though I like to mix it up when I run out of contestants and show a documentary of the interworking of being a world leader. Or on occasion, cartoons- came across an old archive when bombing America- bloody hilarious.- But enough about me- what about _you_!" He interrupted himself, giving her another manic grin. "So tell me, what was it like to absorb the Time Vortex?" He asked, leaning forward like an attentive schoolboy, eyes glittering.

"Not one of my brighter ideas." Rose Tyler replied wryly.

"Oh, but you _saved _your _Doctor_!" The Master pointed out, patronizingly. He had expected a look of reproach- a glare, most likely; he'd been getting a lot of those lately. He was starting to think that maybe he had something to do with it... But instead, the look she gave him was simply tired. Tired, bitter and a bit remorseful; her arms shifting from folded in front of her, to hugging herself.

"For a time, yeah..." She commented, wistfully looking around her, all surroundings a bit indistinguishable due to the bright golden light. "She's right though-" She motioned to the light, "Everythin' comes t' dust in th' end."

"But not you." The Master observed, earning him a snort.

"S'why you're here though, yeah? Part of our bargain?"

"Oh, is it _our_ bargain? I thought I was hashing out the details with the gal upstairs?" He too, motioned to the light. Rose shook her head.

"S' th' same person in th' end- sort of. In a way, I created her- apparently th' Time Vortex's never manifested like this before- so if I die, she returns to the Time Stream- back t' bein' th' Vortex."

"Loses her power." The Master stated, and Rose nodded. "So what does that make you?" The Master asked, eyes darting over her again, curiously. "You appear to be human- and a human body could never hold _that._"

"M'not though, am I?" Rose replied, with a mixture of bitter amusement and resignation. "Not anymore."

"No." The Master agreed, very aware of the song that still surrounded them, filling the space The Drums occupied, and for the time being, efficiently pushing them out. "This song..."

"D'you like it?" Rose quipped, "Sorta jus' came t' me."

"You're a TARDIS." It wasn't a question. The Master had seen the capsule fields and had heard hundreds and thousands of songs, all unique, not a single one alike- yet all very much the same at their core. There was no other sound like it in the universe, no mistaking it. That did not, however, prevent the words to come out without some sense of disbelief and awe.

"Yeah..." Rose replied with an indifferent shrug, "s'pose I am. Not much've one- not completely. Don't have a shell, but-"

"The Heart." They both said in unison, Rose resigned, The Master in fascinated wonder, stepping closer. Rose, too, was observing him curiously, though for entirely different reasons.

"So that's what you look like." She commented, "'ve seen you before- previous regenerations though- _she_ showed me you- thought you could help."

"Yes, and I'm flattered." The Master replied dryly, "which brings us to the next topic of conversation-"

"No." Rose replied, her voice abruptly icy, her body suddenly closed off, a shadow crossing over her now cold features. "He can't help and I won't tell you."

"I take it back, you're no fun at all."

"D'you want t' go back t' _her_ then?" Rose replied in exasperation. "Saw what she did to your little globe-thing. Could be you."

"Yes, but you need me." The Master pointed out, unalarmed.

"M'sure we could find someone else." She retorted. The two were standing rather close to each other now, eyes roaming over the other with impersonal, clinical fascination. Rose had her arms folded again as she observed him, while The Master's hands had slid casually into his pockets.

"Then why choose me? That's what I don't understand. You _do_ realize where you are, don't you? Who _I_ am? I've got an empire to run, I can't be wasting my time in little girls' heads."

Rose smirked.

"Thought a Timelord would know better than t' judge by appearances." She commented.

That caught his interest.

"_Really_? Not so young then?" His eyes ran over her Time Traces- not the blaring, golden ones, but the thin pink ones that swirled lazily around her. They _did_ seem a bit...old.

"To a Timelord, yeah- to a human, no."

"Well, I'm a Timelord." he countered.

"Fair enough." Rose shrugged again in acceptance. "So will you help?"

"You still haven't answered my question."

"Why you?" Rose asked, rhetorically. Her face fell slightly and her impassive expression shifted to one of something much more unpleasant- sympathy. "'Cos I saw you. I saw what happened to you- what they did to you."

The Master paused at that, forgetting his irritation.

"What _who_ did?" He asked, quietly, his voice adopting a more threatening tone.

"The Drums..." Rose replied, as though it were obvious- though not entirely insensitive. The Master sucked in breath with a hiss, glaring at her.

"What about them?" He asked quietly, his voice calm but no less threatening, raising slightly at his impatient demand, "What do you _know_?"

"Are you sure you wanna know?" She asked, uncertainly, and her pitiable expression only aggravated him further, striking a nerve, the small amount of patience he harbored when discussing _them_ in conversation, snapping at her condescension for merely _implying_ that she had _any idea_ what hell he went through.

"_Show Me!_" He commanded, barking the order. No sooner had he uttered it, that the scene changed.

Rose Tyler had disappeared, and the golden light had dimmed, hovering now in the background.

Instead, he found himself somewhere he'd never been, but could have placed anywhere.

"The Counsel..." he breathed, as he found himself standing at the side of a great table, where the great rulers of Gallifrey sat, his eyes fixed in horrified awe at the very head, where a very familiar figure sat.

"Rassilon." He swallowed. "But that's _impossible_!"

He heard a snicker from somewhere- and tore his eyes away from Rassilon to look around wildly for the familiar source, but Rose Tyler was nowhere to be seen. Her voice, however, filled his head as though she were standing right beside him, unnoticed by the table as he was.

"Does that word jus' have a different meanin' in Gallifreyan or did somethin' get lost in translation? 'Cos you lot sure love t' use it incorrectly."

"But it _is_ impossible!" The Master replied, the rest of his explanation drowned out by Rassilon's voice as The Master stood witness to the scene.

"What news of The Doctor?" Rassilon's voice boomed, reverberating around the Citadel Chamber.

"Disappeared, my Lord President." One of the other Time Lords replied- The Master had never cared to keep track of them all...

"But we know of his intention." A female Time Lord piped in, "He still possesses The Moment. And he'll use it to destroy Daleks and Time Lords alike."

"The Visionary confirms it." The first Time Lord replied, all eyes then turning to the foot of the table, the sight sending chills down The Master's spine. He had heard tale of The Visionary- though finally putting a face to the tales set him on edge. He had always expected another great, powerful, regal Time Lord, but instead, there sat an old, withered woman; her greasy face framed by scraggly gray hair, hands and face tattooed in lines and dots that seemed to have no rhyme or reason to them. She looked more than a little mad, hunched over a mess of papers; shaky, sloppy High Gallifreyan written on their surfaces. She was muttering as she scrawled on them, eyes unfocused, an off-kilter grin adorning her features.

"Ending, burning, falling- all of it falling- the black and pitch and screaming fire- so burning..."

"All of her prophecies say the same," The male Time Lord spoke again, "That this is the last day of the Time War, that Gallifrey falls, that we die, today."

"Ending..." The Visionary's voice echoed in the background, eerily, "Ending. Ending. Ending!"

"Perhaps it's time." The female Time Lord piped in again, "This is only the furthest edge of the Time War. But at its heart, millions die every second, lost in bloodlust and insanity, With time itself resurrecting them, to find new ways of dying, over and over again, a travesty of life. Isn't it better to end it, at last?"

All attention turned away from the woman as Rassilon calmly stood.

"Thank you for your opinion." He stated, holding out a gauntlet-covered hand that The Master hadn't noticed before, watching in fascination as the device began to glow, before abruptly shooting out and disintegrating the Time Lord, her final scream echoing in the otherwise silent chamber. The Master sucked in breath, not so much horrified as he was exhilarated by this fascinating display, eying Rassilon and the gauntlet enviously.

"I will NOT die! Do you hear me?! A billion years of Time Lord history riding on our backs. I will not let this perish. I will not!" Rassilon's voice boomed, all other Time Lords deathly silent in his wake.

"There is...um..." The brave, first Time Lord broke in, trembling hand moving to pick up one of the Visionary's scrolls, "There is one part of the prophecy, my Lord." He continued, bringing the scroll to Rassilon, "Forgive me. I'm sorry. It's rather difficult to decipher. But it talks of two survivors, beyond the Final Day. Two Children of Gallifrey."

"Does it name them?" Rassilon asked, urgently.

"It foresees them locked in their final confrontation, the enmity of ages, which would suggest..."

"The Doctor! And The Master." Rassilon finished with distaste.

The Master's breathing hitched again, his head jerking up from the gauntlet to look once more at Rassilon.

"What is this? Why are you showing me this?" The Master spoke, glancing around and, as expected, no one at the table paid him any mind.

"Because it's somethin' you deserve t' know." Rose's voice replied, as though she stood right beside him, though still absent from the scene- the memory- though not her own.

The Time Lords continued to speak, the name 'Earth' popping up quite a few times, though The Master was no longer paying as much attention, more fixated on Rassilon.

"What is _he_ doing here? _How_ is he here?" He muttered, angrily. He had always known that there had been more behind the Time War- and The Counsel, for all its' rallying, had been pointedly absent.

"Sorry, I only know what she shows me." Rose replied, regretfully.

"But how-"

"The Untempered Schism," Rassilon's words effectively stopped Master mid-sentence, his eyes darting back to him, "that's where it began."

"History says the Master heard a rhythm, "a torment that stayed with him for the rest of his life." The first Time Lord spoke and The Master growled.

"What do you know of it." He replied, coldly.

"A drumbeat. A warrior's march."

"A symptom of insanity, my Lord."

The Master let out a stream of Gallifreyan profanities in his direction, but again, none of the Time Lords took any notice of him. Instead, all attention turned to the visionary once more, whose gnarled fingernail had proceeded to tap out said rhythm on the table, a lopsided smile still on her face.

"No..." He muttered as it continued, and he could hear it again, The Drums, knocking around in his head, fighting the song that had been successfully tuning them out.

"A rhythm of four!" Rassilon proclaimed, "The heartbeat of a Time Lord!"

"No!" The Master repeated, The Drums growing louder, closer, _closer_-

**-tap- tap- tap- tap- -tap- tap- tap- tap-**

The scene shifted slightly, the Time Lords all remained in their seats, with Rassilon at the front, but the Time Lord from before was absent- though only for a moment, entering the room shortly after, immediately speaking.

"The signal has been sent." He announced, The Master's breathing growing ragged as fear and rage began to bubble to the surface, The Drums beating out a loud anthem, parallel with his own, accelerated hearts.

"_NO! _YOU _CAN'T_!"

"A simple task of four beats transmitted back through time, and implanted in The Master's mind as a child."

The Master screamed, The Drums now fully present, the song completely absent as he lunged at the Time Lord responsible for his hell- only to fall through him and to his knees, still shouting, enraged, eyes burning with unshed tears as he trembled in fury. Was that all he had been this entire time? Bad Wolf's voice echoed once more in his head:

"_You were forged so young..._

_The perfect weapon..._

_The perfect tool..._

_Left to rust as centuries passed you by..._

_Awaiting a time in which you could once more be valuable..._

_A cruel fate for anyone, forsaken by your own kind."_

"HOW COULD YOU DO THIS TO ME!? THIS _ENTIRE_ TIME! SAID I WAS _MAD_! WHEN _YOU! YOU WERE RESPONSIBLE!" _He shouted and beating the floor with his fist, each scream ripping painfully through his throat, battling The Drums for dominance as they preserved. He wanted to kill them all, wanted to force them to suffer like he had suffered.

The scene dissolved around him, placing him back in empty space, surrounded by golden light, the song once again flowing through his mind, gently caressing him and washing over The Drums, dulling the sharp sting that was their sound, if not completely obliterating them. Rose stood before him, silently watching as he let out his fury- expelling centuries of pent up anger as he yelled and thrashed, cursing out Rassilon, Gallifrey, and every Time Lord ever to exist upon it. Rose waited patiently, not moving to interfere nor comfort, silently allowing him his grief.

Finally, he began to calm, recovering enough to stand and face her, his expression no longer one of patronizing amusement, but cold, calculating, stern.

"What must I do to get rid of them?" He asked, all business now. Rose gave him a small smile in return, pleased with his response, before her own face grew stern.

"The only way to get rid of them completely- permanently- is to replace them."

"With the song." The Master stated, knowingly. Rose nodded.

"Complete silence would probably drive you mad- but it'd be the same as any Time Lord and TARDIS."

"A Bond then." The Master replied, eyebrows raising very slightly in surprise. Rose, again, nodded.

"You _know_ what that means?"

Another nod.

"I have no choice." She answered with a shrug, "M' dyin'- slowly, thanks t' some bastards back at Torchwood- but s'like any TARDIS I s'pose. All that power, no control- an' no shell t' contain me. So I need a Time Lord."

"And your Doctor was unavailable?" He countered, receiving an icy stare.

"Yes." She replied, simply, that particular line of conversation clearly closed, and continued on with the former. "Bad Wolf would remove the drums, an' bind you t' me- replacin' the drums with my presence- not nearly as...aggressive and controllable- you'd be keepin' me alive and prevent Bad Wolf from returnin' to the Vortex. In return-"

"No more drums." The Master filled in. "Still seems that you have the better bargain- not keen on bonding, especially to a human, never have before and never plan to."

Rose observed him with a patronizing expression.

"Did I also mention I'm a TARDIS? Time and Relative Dimension in Space?"

"Yes, I'm familiar with the acronym. _How_ is something I still don't quite understand. Don't care how much huon and arton energy you've got shoved up your arse- doesn't mean you actually qualify as a capsule."

"The...Corporation that created me...they found an empty one- capsule, I guess..." Rose replied, quietly, suddenly clearly uncomfortable, eyes averted. "They'd known about my...history and that I possessed certain...traits...an' they wanted to see if they could...use me." She shifted, her arms moving to wrap around her again, instinctually, apparently, as she continued. "They...wanted to use me to replace the Time Rotor- so they fabricated more huon particles in their lab and injected them into me, along with a couple of other things I was never able to figure out...it should've killed me-but they hadn't counted on waking _her_ up."

"Ahh...so The Big Bad Wolf makes an appearance." The Master muttered, "Sounds like one hell of a christmas party." Rose ignored him and continued.

"Bad Wolf- not wantin' to lose her host- stabilized the huon energy in me, the arton energy neutralizing the worst of it. Ended up turnin' me into what I am now. Essentially-"

"Forging a TARDIS Heart- makes sense, would be the closest thing to compare it to- but how did she manage to keep your body?"

Rose shrugged again.

"'s complicated, but I s'pose she needed somethin' t' put it all in- an' I was the closest thing. 'Ve had a few tests done- apparently I have TNA now-"

"A triple helix?...Yes...that could do it..." The Master muttered, more to himself than anyone else. "And if you forced Bad Wolf to become dormant, potentially-"

"I wont burn up, yeah- had someone else look at me, like I said."

"Oh?" The Master asked with a raised eyebrow, curiosity peaked. Her cold glare was all the answer he needed however. He figured _He_ must have had something to do with the stability- though what part he played in it, he couldn't imagine- it _would_ explain why she had stated he was now dead. He couldn't imagine anyone surviving something like that- he was surprised _she_ did.

"So now..." Rose sighed as she spoke, "I have all- or most of- the natural abilities of a TARDIS, apparently. Time and space travel- jus' need a pilot." She finished with an ironic smile.

The Master contemplated this, intrigued.

"My own TARDIS?" He repeated, quietly, very quickly warming up to the idea. He'd had one before- sort of- stolen, and it never liked him much; but that's what you got usually when you stole a TARDIS- The Doctor had been lucky; the poor thing had been so old, their Time Lord gone so long, that it had essentially given up. The thing probably was so desperate to escape impound that it took the first Time Lord available.

"Can't promise you a fancy casin'- no chameleon circuit, no console- no translation circuit either."

"Oh that can all be fixed." The Master brushed away with a distracted wave of his hand.

"And if you try an' shove me in a Time Rotor, I'll sick Bad Wolf on you- but otherwise, yeah..." She said with a final, indifferent shrug.

"And all I have to do is..." The Master egged on, waiting for the catch.

"Close the door." Rose replied as though it were obvious, he was really starting to hate that tone. "Bad Wolf will do the rest- the second we're connected, you get in here, and close the door so Bad Wolf doesn't continue to manifest and I can have my body back."

"Back?"

Rose looked sheepish.

"Yeah...might've got a bit outta hand near th' end..."

Which made absolutely no sense to him, so he moved on, noting to find out later how a company- 'Torchwood', apparently (he was vaguely familiar with them, but wasn't aware they could create something like _this_)- managed to forge their own personal TARDIS out of a _human_. Even Time Lords hadn't been able to do that- not that they tried very hard to, the idea was ludicrous.

"Okay then- show me this _door_."

Rose, apparently anticipating this, grabbed his hand. He hardly had time to recoil at the unfamiliar gesture, before he felt himself being swallowed in a stifling warmth, one that he'd never quite experienced before- a touch of minds. He had delved into minds before, it was nothing new to him, but he had never before, been so..._welcome_. And this- _this_- two layers in, the deepest caverns- was _beautiful_.

He was lead down what appeared to be a long stretch of hallway; something fairly familiar in structure, and his assumptions were confirmed- he knew this method of organization- he had been the one to initially offer up the idea, though his own organization method was far more complex. But he _knew_ this method, and had seen it done before- still kept the same, even over centuries, not once altering apart from the interior. And that was the only real difference here- the interior of the hallways was unfamiliar, and there weren't nearly as many doors- however, he could spot The Doctor's branding from a galaxy away.

They continued down the long passageway, and The Master became aware of the fact that, unlike most caverns of the mind, the deeper you delve down, the darker it got, this one only seemed to get brighter. Brighter and brighter until he found himself in front of a very large, very grand door, currently flung wide open, all the light that seemed to surround them spilling out, causing him to squint as he surveyed it.

"Why can't I close it now?" He asked, arm raising to cover his eyes, instinctively, despite the fact that he knew it'd make no difference. "Have this all over and done with? Could certainly use a TARDIS now- my current one has been...tampered with."

"I am aware." Rose replied, coldly, "An' again, you do that do me-"

"And you'll turn me into dust like my Toclafane." The Master replied, boredly.

"Not exactly a vote of confidence, you're lucky I'm desperate." Rose replied, with a surprising amount of humor.

Abruptly, they were back as they were before, in the outer exterior of her mind, far away from The Door.

"S'not time yet." She explained, continuing the conversation as though they hadn't moved.

"And when _will_ it be time?" The Master asked, impatiently. Rose frowned at him, raising a skeptical eyebrow.

"Does that mean you're on board?"

The Master was the one to shrug this time, carefully apathetic.

"Master of the Universe. Could benefit from having a TARDIS to get around my domain."

Rose smirked- a smirk he didn't quite appreciate.

"Right then- slip your ring on my finger when you see me- Bad Wolf will destroy it if she does it herself." There was a hint of exasperated amusement in her tone.

"That my cue to leave?"

"Can't stay all day- you're already burnin' up." Rose replied.

He received one more flash of a smile- this one far more genuine than any he had witnessed prior- before he was unceremoniously ripped away.

He found himself toppling backward, onto the cold, hard concrete of the deserted London street- sweating and breathing heavily, his skin prickling as though it had, moments before, in fact been on fire. Bad Wolf stood over him, glowing tirelessly and effortlessly, like the golden Goddess she was- no longer speaking but simply watching him impassively. The Master managed to shakily rise to his feet, brushing himself off and straightening himself out, attempting to even his breathing before once more walking up to Bad Wolf, his temples throbbing and The Drums flaring in response.

"Nice place you've got there." He commented, but received no reaction.

He sighed, resigned, and looked down at his hand, hesitantly, the silver ring resting on his digit innocently. It wasn't a simple trinket she asked for. He would be giving her his failsafe- _why? For leverage?_ He didn't like to think of any other alternative explanations.

The Drums were raging in his head again, just below the bar of painful, on the verge of a horrendous headache he would no doubt be forced to endure the remainder of the night. He longed to hear that music again- have that ghostly, familiar, soothing melody calm the flaring storm and dull the pain, just for a little while. The idea of it replacing them permanently?

He removed the ring before he could put too much more thought into it. No sooner had he touched the ring that Bad Wolf outstretched her hand, anticipating his actions. The Master smirked in spite of himself, slipping the ring on her finger.

"Can't say I ever expected this." He joked, but again, it was lost on her.

Instead of speaking, Bad Wolf approached him and to his absolute, petrified surprise, closed the distance between them, elevating herself on her toes; looped her arms around his neck and pulling his head down to meet her in a rather thorough snog. After a year of marriage and playing the part of a happily married man in front of the camera, he responded to her instinctively. And even if it wasn't a favored pastime as it was for _some_ he knew, how often did one get a chance to snog The Goddess of Time? Or so he thought in amusement, closing his eyes.

No sooner, however, had he done so, that the pressure dissipated.

He opened his eyes, still leaning forward, to see that Bad Wolf had vanished, without a trace. He glanced down at his hand briefly- the ring was gone- confirming that she certainly hadn't been a mere figment- his mouth still tingling slightly, and he licked his lips, tasting the Vortex.

He smirked, glancing around the deserted street, but there was absolutely no indication that she had been there at all.

"Minx." He muttered with a slight chuckle, before his face fell back to a more serious countenance, turning to face the remaining car, not far off in the distance. The soldiers still seemed completely unaware of anything that had taken place. And likely they weren't. As he walked to the car, he couldn't help the spring in his step- couldn't wait to brag to The Doctor about how _he_ had met the famed _Rose Tyler_- and exactly what that meant for his future.

However, by the time he had returned to The Valiant, all memory of the event had left him, with only the smallest glimmer still in place; a mere echo of the experience he had had less than an hour before...

"_Such a disappointment, this one. Days of old, Doctor, you had companions who could absorb the Time Vortex. This one's useless."_


	3. ----

Dying was...

Well, a bit underwhelming, if he were to be completely honest.

Not to say he didn't enjoy the crying- on the contrary, he _loved _the crying- _relished_ it. To see the great and mighty Doctor fall to pieces- oh, well that was _priceless_. In the end, he still managed to win.

Can't say he expected how he was going to go, though. No, that was an unpleasant surprise.

Shot by his own wife- should have expected that- but he never really thought she had it in her. Martha Jones? Probably. The _Freak_? Any day of the week, just give him the means- Hell, even though _He'd _never admit to it, The Master knew if he pushed- pushed, pushed, pushed- at the _opportune_ time, maybe, just _maybe_, he could have gotten _Him_ to do it.

Oh how he wished he could have seen the day when The Doctor finally snapped- and if this last display was any indication, he wasn't far off.

Still though...

He _had_ hoped for something a bit more...dramatic.

Or some_one_.

But no, instead he found himself falling victim to the biggest cliche. He could see the headline now:

"Corrupt Politician Shot By Wife". The only thing more predictable would have been if he had been sleeping with his Secretary. Which, he supposed, was accurate enough...from a Gallifreyan viewpoint. He may not have touched her body (the very _idea_) but that didn't mean he hadn't indulged in her _mind._

Dull, boring thing.

Won't be coming back for a repeat visit.

They said she died of an aneurysm...

If anyone were to ask _him_, he was more of the opinion that he was just too _big_ for her.

_In all_, he thought as The Doctor lost all control and dignity beside him, blubbering in a wonderfully pathetic fashion, _it had all been rather...disappointing. _

The pain dulled...

his vision dimmed...

yet The Drums marched on...

**-ba-da-da-dum- -ba-da-da-dum-**


	4. The Absence of Drums

Regeneration had never been an altogether _pleasant_ experience...

There was the prickling, pins and needles sensation, criss-crossing over every inch of your skin. Followed by the inevitable, indescribable pain as every single atom of your being- save your consciousness- is forcefully ripped apart in a very literal explosion of energy, the process emitting and activating the otherwise generally dormant, regeneration energy stored deep within the consciousness of a Time Lord.

The second half isn't nearly as bad- so long as you don't fight it. Once you adjust to the sensation of your entire body contorting, stretching and shrinking at random, while each and every one of your nerve endings is severed then realigned- the second half begins. And that, _that_ _feeling_ makes it all worth it.

All that energy that escaped initially, is _sucked_ back into your body, giving the entire new form a _rush_ that no other experience could hope to replicate. You're literally bursting with energy, trapped inside a brand new, untested body and just _reeling_ to get out.

You feel new- and you _are_- entirely new and seeing everything through brand new eyes with a brand new brain, perceiving things in a brand new way. The entire process was exhilarating, leaving you with the desire to scale tall structures or run as far and as fast as your body will take you- screaming at the top of your brand new pair of lungs in pure, unadulterated joy and ecstasy at the simple novelty of being _**alive.**_

Being revived...

was not at all, remotely like that.

To begin with:

instead of starting out as a dying Time Lord, ripped to shreds and then pieced back together again like recycled newspaper that you're really hoping will turn into a new, expensive notebook, but usually ends up as a very poorly made grocery bag-

He started out as a ring in a bowl.

A ring in a bowl, drowning in a mysterious chemical cocktail of his own creation, designed to activate the release of the compressed consciousness and begin the revival process, in the ring.

Add a handful of loyal followers willing to give their lives, and a dash of biometrical signature, procured from a recently institutionalized widow-

and _presto_!

Out comes a fully forged, brand new Time Lord- and he'd even gets to keep the face.

Or that had been the plan.

It wasn't until he heard the song, that he remembered that there had been a slight change in the nights' roster.

So, instead of a biometric signature from a begrudging, vengeful widow; who- lets face it- probably would have found a way to interfere with the process at the last second anyway- he had a rather memorable snog from one Rose Tyler.

And instead of a group of willing sacrifices, he had The Goddess of Time- which, he supposed, had to count for _something_. And he had to admit, whatever she had thrown into the mix in place of those pathetic human souls- it definitely had a bit of a _kick_.

He could have done without the pain...

But he never assumed that growing out of a ring, some chemicals and trace elements of saliva, would be an altogether _pleasant_ experience.

In all the chaos, however, he _did_ make note of the fact that the drums were, for the most part, absent. Instead, the TARDIS song he had grown familiar with, began to fill his head, pushing the drums back and stifling them as he felt Bad Wolf begin to seep into his consciousness.

He screamed as his mind was abruptly invaded by a raw, terrifying _power_- flooding every corner and latching on, as the Tardis song simultaneously continued to battle the Drums, all of if threatening to split his skull open. And through it all, through all the chaos and confusion, he could hear one, clear voice:

"_Close the door...close it before she burns us both..."_

The Master forced his eyes open- not realizing that they had ever been closed, seeking out the source of his present pain. They fixed on the most terrifying, awe-inspiring vision he had ever witnessed.

Bad Wolf stood before him in all her glory; brimming with a blinding, mesmerizing light, her golden eyes boring into his, her hand raised towards him, energy coursing to and from it in a shimmering stream.

It took a surprising amount of effort to perform the simple task of moving his arms- let alone stretching them out and reaching towards this beautiful, terrifying entity- almost completely certain that the moment his fingers touched her temple, he would burn. Pain still perpetually soared through his own temple as Bad Wolf invaded, forcefully shoving him aside like no being had _ever_ done before. Any other time, he would have angrily retaliated. As it were, he was more than happy to thrust himself into _Her_ consciousness, if simply to get away from Bad Wolf.

He found, at touching her temple, that he was not only welcomed openly, but _dragged in_ the moment his fingers made contact, adding to his own momentum as he flew through, easily and effortlessly bypassing the first level and finding himself once more in the long corridor, which was currently expelling light far more prominently than it ever had before.

Which was when The Drums attacked.

They overpowered the song the moment he set eyes on The Door, still so far away, but very clearly in view. At first, he recoiled, fear (he would never admit to) engulfing him as he felt the drums gaining.

Which is when he felt a hand in his.

The Master glanced down in surprise to find the hand in question belonging to one Rose Tyler, who was glaring ahead at the source with a look of absolute determination.

"Right." She said, her voice stronger than it had been the last time they had spoken. "Let's get this over with." She grabbed The Master's hand a bit tighter, and lead the way, seeming nearly as impeded as he was as they slowly made their way forward- The Drums gaining on him with every step.

The light was no longer kind, but searing, and he could feel himself begin to burn- whether from the close proximity to the source, or from Bad Wolf still occupying space in his own mind, he didn't know.

What he _was _aware of, though, was the tight grip on his hand- so tight he felt as though he could actually feel it in his own, and not just in his mind. It was foreign and unfamiliar and not an entirely comfortable sensation; but he clung to it like a lifeline- focusing on it and what was _real_, pushing back The Drums as best he could; forcing himself forward, step after step, with Rose Tyler leading the way, despite the fact that it was clearly taking a toll on her as well.

They were both shouting in exertion as they reached the door- blinded by the light before them, The Drums throbbing and pulsing around him as he felt Rose's hand guide his to the edge of the door, wrapping his fingers around it and pulling with all the strength he had left in him and all the energy his very recent revival had given him. And slowly but surely, it began to move.

The two threw their entire corporeal bodies at the door, groaning and gritting their teeth; willing it closed as it fought back- and with it, The Master realized, shoving The Drums back as well. For the closer the door came to closing, the quieter and quieter the drums became. It was that realization that gave him the last spurt of energy and motivation needed to close the door, the drums and light abruptly vanishing with a very loud, satisfying click.

Not seconds later, The Master found himself being forcefully ejected out of her mind and flung back into his own with such velocity that it sent him reeling backward, landing harshly onto cold, jagged pavement with a loud groan. The near simultaneous, accompanying groan from somewhere nearby, indicated that whoever it was now occupying the other body, had shared a similar fate.

The two simply lied there for a long while, their ragged breathing the only sound filling the surrounding area. The cold, however, eventually got to them, and they both became abundantly aware of the fact that they were both entirely stark naked.

Rose was the first to sit up with another groan,

blinking wildly in disbelief and sucking icy air in hungrily. She couldn't recall the last time her mind felt so..._clear_. It had been in a hazy fog for so long that she had completely forgotten that it were possible to feel this..._awake_...this _alive._

She could feel a sharp sting on the palm of her hand, where she had somehow managed to scrape it, and another on her knee. She was banged up and battered, and looking down at her naked form, she could see trace remains of scars and fresh bruises already coloring in the dim light of a corner streetlamp. She found herself relishing the pain- never believing that she would be experiencing these sensations first-hand, ever again.

The Master sat up next,

His entire body was throbbing, excess blood rushing away from his head as gravity took control. His limbs ached, and he felt so, incredibly exhausted. This was nothing like regeneration at all; no abundant amount of energy, no thrilling _rush_ of adrenaline. Just exhaustion...

There was _one_ thing though... _one_ miraculous, _wonderful_ thing.

As he sat there, eyes darting around to observe his surroundings, he became blissfully aware of the _silence_. Silence so, incredibly profound, that his ears _rung_ from it. After so, _so_ long- an eternity of drums- there was finally, absolutely _nothing. _

...No...That wasn't true...

If he concentrated, he could _barely_ make out, beneath the sound of his own thoughts, a clear, melodious presence. The more he concentrated, the more the presence grew, a familiar sound accompanying it.

The TARDIS song.

It was inactive now, which was to be expected, but still vaguely present no matter what- and she had been right, it really was no different than sensing the presence of another Time Lord in his mind- though much _much_ clearer. He pushed the song back, behind his own thoughts, and took in his sights once more, relishing the long dormant sense of _sound_.

They were in an alleyway- surprise, surprise there- and it was...three thirteen and fifty-six point eight seconds. Good, Time Sense still working then.

He was very acutely aware of the shuffling in front of him, and finally focused his attention forward in time to see Rose Tyler struggling shakily to her feet.

The first thing he observed was that she looked neither like the Goddess he had seen moments prior, nor the girl he had met in her head.

This woman, while still young (twenty-four at the most, if he were to go by physical appearance) was older than the girl he had seen in her mind. Her skin was sickly pale, and she was unhealthily thin, her ribs clearly showing through her bare torso; no longer curves but awkward angles; white scars covering a majority of it, criss-crossing at random. Her face was gaunt, completely bare of makeup, with heavy bags under her eyes and a look of sheer exhaustion in her features. Her hair, he noted, was apparently naturally blonde; contradicting the roots and dark eyebrows he had seen in her mind's eye (a confusing detail he couldn't trouble himself with at the time), it hung, tangled and matted, down her back; a prominent sheen of a translucent substance, thickly coating it, along with the rest of her body; mixing with the layer of sweat that had permeated there during their little exercise and clumping unpleasantly.

He had very little time to observe this however, as Rose's countenance abruptly contorted from one of exhaustion, to one of nausea, as she quickly bolted to one of the dumpsters grouped in a corner, hurriedly lifting a lid and emptying, what sounded like, the entire contents of her stomach, into said dumpster. He wrinkled his nose at the stench (so it seemed that all of his other senses were working as well), turning away, his attention averting once more to his surroundings as he observed the cramped, narrow alleyway; taking the few steps it required to reach the mouth of it, and peering around at the open area. The view didn't seem to improve. The open area in question was the backlot intersection of a grouping of apartment complexes. It only took one look at the dirty stone structures, their walls defiled with layer upon layer of anonymous posters and graffiti, to conclude that this was the impoverished section of whatever city they were in.

The sound of vomiting finally subsided, followed by a loud banging as the lid of the dumpster being flung back over to a close. He could smell her before she reached him- a strange mixture of bile, sweat, and other human scents- intermingled with a very prominent, unmistakable scent that he had already begun to associate with this strange creature- one that could only be described as "time" itself- though Time itself had no scent. In fact, the only other place he had ever recalled a similar scent, was... on a TARDIS.

Well...if he had ever doubted her before- the combination of her scent and those time signatures that curled around her, present even in the corner of his eye as she stood beside him, hugging herself for warmth, confirmed his suspicions. She made a small noise that could have been described as almost a snort of derision, but with a voice so weak, that he doubted, if it weren't for the miraculous absence of his previous impediment, he would have heard it.

It drew his attention enough to look at her. She wasn't looking at him, but the area before him, with a strange expression of recognition and...remorse? Interesting.

"You know where we are." He stated, watching her expressions carefully. She still didn't look at him. Only frowned out at the lot and nodded very slightly.

"The Powell Estate. S'my home, or was. Before..." she trailed off, her face falling slightly, before abruptly hardening to a more soldier-like countenance, which didn't seem to suit her evidently expressive face. Her head finally turned towards him, her eyes meeting his- and he realized, at this close of a proximity, that he had been wrong before- not brown, but hazel- with flecks of gold in them that sent a slight shiver down his spine... They were hard as well, her large mouth drawn into a firm line as she outstretched her hand, something held between her fingers. The Master, curiously, outstretched his own, and allowed the contents to be dropped into it- his ring. The smallest, amused smile played over her lips, her right eyebrow twitching, raised barely a centimeter higher than the other as she continued to meet his gaze.

"Had no idea 'ancient Time Lord technology' included voodoo rituals- think there might be a cult in 2010 who jus' realized they've misplaced a few important belongin's- vaguely remember interuptin' a seance of some sort- s'hard t' keep track when Bad Wolf's doin' the drivin'." Her voice was still gravely from strain and disuse, but there was still traces of humor there. The Master smirked, his other hand taking the ring from his palm and sliding it back onto his finger, feeling much more secure now that he had it back. While his attention had been drawn to his ring, Rose had apparently gone on without him. He looked up to see her pale naked figure across the way, facing the large grouping of posters pasted to the wall. After a moment, she tore one off from a large white grouping, and walked back over to him. As she approached, he suddenly realized why the poster had looked so familiar.

**VOTE**

**SAXON**

"The poster's new." She commented as he took it, looking it over with a mixture of bitterness and nostalgia. "When did you start campaignin'?"

"2007." The Master replied, looking at her with scepticism.

"Good." Rose replied, not elaborating, but instead continuing "Come on, the entrance is right around the corner- don't want t' be caught starkers..." her eyes looking him up and down very briefly, her right eyebrow raising an iota higher before she turned her head away, attention again on the lot. "Though, actually, not too unusual for this area." She added, thoughtfully as she glanced around, before motioning for him to follow her as she lead the way across the courtyard, not seeming to be in too much of a hurry.

"You're an estate brat." The Master observed in surprise as he followed her, "I thought The Doctor prefered the well bred like Martha Jones and Sarah Jane Smith." He added, admittedly trying to get a rise out of her- nothing had seemed to work yet, apart from mentioning The Doctor. And, if he were honest, a little bit of his motivation stemmed from the enigmatic statement Bad Wolf had left him with, foretelling The Doctor's demise.

Instead, he got another snort.

"Obviously, you never met Leela."

That definitely surprised him.

"I was under the impression he didn't like to mix companions."

"He doesn't" Rose agreed, stopping at an entrance to one of the complexes and tugging on the handle of a heavy, metal door, that opened with a loud, grating, rusty creek. The Master winced- he'd have to get used to this- he'd never actually had the luxury of unimpeded Time Lord hearing before- and so far it seemed to be proving itself rather spectacularly acute. Which, he found, wasn't always a good thing.

Rose immediately took off up the stone steps, her feet slapping against them loudly, the sound reverberating in the small covered corridor, not bothering to look back and see if The Master was still behind her. "But he mentioned her." She added as an afterthought, having reached the top of the first flight. The Master's own words were halted as he climbed the stairs, following her as she took off for the next flight, again without glancing back. Apparently, this was one of the buildings so poor it couldn't even afford to install a lift.

"Not t' mention, Donna Noble- his companion after Martha- was a temp worker from Chiswick, an' Captain Jack Harkness was an ex-Time Agent, con-man when we met him."

"Ah, The _Freak_." He acknowledged in distaste, spitting the word out vilely.

"Oh! So you've met Jack!" Rose replied in an enthusiastic, upbeat exclamation, as though they were merely speaking of mutual acquaintances, instead of a list of people The Master planned to seek out the moment he was clothed.

They had finally, after a few flights, stopped in front of a door, Rose crouching down to grab a key from under the doormat.

"Under the doormat? Really?" The Master mocked, raising an eyebrow skeptically. Rose shrugged, sticking the key into the lock and pushing the door open.

"My mum had trouble findin' hers after late night trips t' the pub- 'sides, who would be mad enough to break in _here_? Everyone in this area's too poor to own anything worth stealin'."

She had him there. Especially when she clicked on the light, revealing the interior. The Master had thought Martha Jones' flat was small. Compared to this one, however, her flat had been a _palace_.

For starters, his old office was bigger.

As Rose hurried off, through what he assumed passed for a 'lounge' and through an open doorway, he proceeded to scrutinize every detail.

Someone else lived here, that much was certain. If the decour didn't give it away, then the clothing basket on the sofa did. Definitely not items belonging to one Rose Tyler- and he noted an obscene amount of pink (which unfortunately seemed to be a pattern). As he perused the lounge, he took note, first of the pictures- always a good source of information. It wasn't difficult to establish the other resident of the flat- a short, tubby woman with a bad tan and even worse bleached blond hair- Rose's mother, no doubt. He wondered, idly, if he left her daughter out in the sun for a couple of days, would she come back in looking like that? The thought was a bit off putting.

"July 10th, 2007, only a few days after the Battle of Canary Warf." Rose announced as she re-entered, now wearing a pale pink dressing gown and carrying a bundle of clothing, which she tossed at him. He caught it with a thoughtful frown.

"Why now? What's so important about _now_, that Bad Wolf would drop you off here?" He asked while examining the bundle. Rose shrugged as if it were obvious.

"My mum's gone- got stuck in the parallel universe with me, so the flat's empty. Probably can't stay here long, but it'll work for the night, until we can figure everythin' out- sorry about the clothes-" She added, chewing on a nail, subconsciously- likely a nervous tick. "Was the only stuff I could find that might fit you- don't have much here, only a few things some of mum's...er..._friends_ left behind- funny thing though, no pants."

The Master looked down at the bundle with new found disgust.

"M' gonna take a bath- f' you want, there's another shower in my mum's room- second door on the left- s'pose it'll be your room fer the night...if you feel like sleepin'- Time Lord, so really don't know. Otherwise, make yourself at home." Rose said with another shrug, before turning on him and heading back into the room she had come from, closing the door behind her.

The Master stood there for a moment, staring blankly at the closed door, processing this new information.

He sniffed, and grimaced.

Time Lord or no, a shower probably would be a good idea.


	5. The Domestic Approach

Rose sighed heavily as she slipped into the pool of molten liquid that filled her tub, letting the water work at her taut muscles as she relaxed her body against the heated porcelain. The steam from the hot water swirled around her, filling and clearing her sinuses, and ridding them of any remaining, unwanted substances. She closed her eyes, sinking in deeper so that the water caressed her neck, splashing slightly against her cheeks at her slight movement, a warm kiss against frigid skin.

She couldn't recall the last time she'd ever had a bath...

She'd always been particularly partial to showers- not exactly enthusiastic about 'bathing in her own filth' as she had once repeated numerous times to her mum in defense of wanting to use her mum's shower. Her mum had eventually relented, when it came to getting Rose to school on time, and later, work- baths were just too time consuming in that field, and Rose stubbornly refusing to get up any earlier to accommodate to it- she was never, nor would she ever _be_, a morning person.

Not that the tub went unused. Jackie Tyler, on the other hand, had been a great fan of baths and it wasn't infrequent that she held up Rose from entering her own bathroom in lieu of a particularly lengthy soak in the tub.

But, it seemed like, with everything else about Rose, that too, had changed.

The very idea of confining herself voluntarily to such a small, similarly glass-encased space, gave her chills, and she sunk even lower into the tub, the hot water now tickling her chin as she glared at the opposing tile wall. As she shifted, she watched the water warp the scars that had so thoroughly decorated her skin. Old and ancient markings of battle- back before The Darkness; before the dimension hopping; when Bad Wolf was just an old, foggy memory of a time long ago- something she would speak of casually later, would even joke about with _Him, much _later.

She had Torchwood to thank for most of them.

Working on the field or just in the office, lacking the more advanced TARDIS medbay technology that could so easily make any evidence of her trials vanish. Those were the deepest, most prominent ones.

There were others though, from the early days of the dimension canon. Before the frequent jumps had reawaken _Her_ and she could still get scars. She still had nightmares about the things she had seen: wars at their peak, creatures slaughtering each other for their causes, or simply because they _could_. Thousands, starving out of devastation, or out of poverty. Political movements gone wrong- or natural disasters. The multiverse was a terrible, horrifying place, and she came to realize how little of it she had truly seen before. How much _He_ had hidden from her. How little He had actually shown her- because He had seen it too- and more. He had seen it all and desperately wished to escape it. So he took others along- innocent, naive creatures, and filled their heads with all the splendor and beauty it too, had to offer- living vicariously through them, seeing it through their eyes- so that maybe, just maybe, for a small, minute second, he could believe it too.

Her Doctor had offered to remove them. Make her skin brand new as the days before she had ever known Him. But she had refused. She didn't want to forget. As much as it hurt- each and every individual she saw suffer; each and every man, woman or child she had sat with and spoke comforting words to- played 'Goddess' for, just so that in their final moments, they didn't feel alone; _deserved_ to be remembered.

The new marks, however, she could happily do without, and she stared down at her arms, still able to see the puncture wounds, despite the lack of evidence. Still able to see the bruises where the straps had dug into her flesh; still see their cold, clinical eyes as they gazed up at her with their white lab coats and tablets, as though they were observing a particularly fascinating exhibit at a zoo and not a human being they had imprisoned there in the name of _science_.

She could still recall too vividly, the sensation of the icy cold liquid as it pelted down on her skull, the sheer strength of it forcing her head downward, as it quickly filled up the small, confined glass cylindrical, solidifying into a thick, unyielding translucent gelatin- petrifying her limbs and torso as it rose upwards at an astonishingly swift pace. Fear filled her, and she forced her head up, away from the downpour, to glare at the people who were doing this to her-one voice breaking through to her:

"_ROSE! ROSE! LET HER GO!"_

"_TONY!" _She found herself screaming back, desperately, her breath fogging up the glass and blocking her view, her arms petrified from the rising liquid, preventing her from wiping it away- but she could hear the commotion, hear the chaos. "_TONY!"_ Her mouth filled with the liquid, choking her, and silencing her as she coughed and sputtered, attempting to lift her head above the rising substance, to no avail, quickly drowning in it as it flooded her nose, her ears, forcing her now closed eyes to remain shut as it continued to solidify, encasing her there, suffocating her. Preserving her. Her head becoming foggy as everything began to grow dark...

There was a sharp pain at the base of Rose's skull as she was pulled from the water, gasping desperately for air as her head broke the surface.

"Oh no, you don't." A voice said from beside her. "You're not getting away from me that easily, we had a deal." The Master continued as Rose finished coughing and sputtering, turning her head to look up at him reproachfully. He was standing over her, arms folded, looking down at her, irritation evident.

His hair was damp, clearly having just come from the shower, and was now wearing the clothes she had provided for him: a pair of dark jeans that had surprisingly seemed to fit, a large, garish red shirt with a band name on it one of her mum's 'friends' had been infatuated with, sufficiently covered up by the black hoodie he wore over it. In all, he looked completely unrecognizable from Harold Saxon, Prime Minister.

"I did what you wanted and helped out with that little identity crisis you've got going on there." He motioned to her, his hand still sopping wet from reaching into the tub and pulling her out by her hair. Seeming to notice this as she did, he moved and wiped it off on his jeans, still watching her. "Now, I expect you to follow through with your end and take me wherever I ask."

Rose stared up at him in disbelief.

"That wasn't part of the deal." She scoffed, indignantly.

"Oh, no, I believe it was." The Master contradicted, his expression growing darker as he eyed her predatorily, in a way that would make lesser beings tremble. It simply made Rose's skin crawl.

Rose stood, refusing to allow him to tower over her any longer, staring at him as square in the eyes as she could due to their prominent height difference, silently letting him know in no uncertain terms, where he stood with her.

"No." She replied, quietly, disdain and irritation very clear in her tone, "Jus' 'cos I'm a TARDIS now, an' jus' 'cos I need a Time Lord t' travel, doesn't mean I'll jus' go wherever the hell you bloody want!"

To Rose's further irritation, however, The Master only smiled condescendingly at her- taking on the look one might adopt with a rather slow child.

"Oh you stupid, _stupid_ ape. Do you know why I'm here? Why I was here in time to save your miserable, _pathetic, hybrid-TARDIS_ arse from _drowning_?" He asked, his voice light and carefree, while his dark eyes glittered with malice. He continued to smile as he tapped the side of his temple (subconsciously the same, four-beat rhythm).

"Because _you_, silly little human that you are, initiated a _full_ _telepathic __**link**_. Do you even understand, in that tiny little head of yours, what that _means?_" He mocked, condescendingly, before leaning over and stroking her own temple in a movement that was anything but kind- the very brief touch causing an uncontrollable shiver to run down her spine as a very foreign stream of emotions collided with her own, along with an indescribable feeling that she couldn't quite place, but was more than a little grateful when it was gone.

"Much like a Time Lord and a Tardis," The Master continued, casually, enough so that if Rose hadn't felt confirmation herself, she wouldn't have been certain that he had just had the same experience. "we've _bonded_- which means that _I _can _feel_ you." He practically growled, half tauntingly, half in repulsion. "Every single emotion swirling around in that brain of yours, every thought, I can _feel_. And I _know_.-

Not that _all_ connections do that- but you're a particularly _loud_ projector- it's astonishing you've survived this long." He mused, before turning his attention back on her, eyes boring into hers' in an unnerving way- even for her, and for the first time she felt as though she were actually seeing him for who he really _was_- no smoke screens, no hidden potential or tragic past- but the _monster_ who had caused such devastation- devastation, that she had willingly let continue- even behind the mask of Bad Wolf- she had let it continue for fear of meddling with a fixed point. And she found herself having to remind herself, over and over again, _why_ she had brought him back.

"And for reasons I still don't understand, knowing full well, _who I am_-" He continued, as though working off of Rose's train of thought- which he likely was- "you decided to bond with- not your beloved _Doctor_- but _me._ Which means that _you_ can't go _anywhere_ without _me._" He said with relish, though if she concentrated, she swore she could detect less settled emotions below the surface, and was very quickly learning to identify them as _his_. "Which _means_- that being separated from me, will cause you _pain_-" He hissed, mere inches away from her again, Rose glaring back at him, unflinchingly, though his words struck a cord she didn't want to admit to, "In other words..." He breathed, pausing for effect, and at the flip of a coin, his calm, pleasant demeanor malformed into one of malice, his smile turning to a frown as he firmly gripped Rose's jaw, forcing her face up towards him to look directly into his cold, heartless eyes, "**I. OWN. YOU.**" he spat out in an enraged growl, before abruptly calming, his voice once more quiet and predatory, "So if I tell you to take me somewhere. **You. Will. Obey.** Understand?"

In place of a response, Rose Tyler took that opportunity to spit in The Master's face.

The Master closed his eyes, exhaling heavily, rage bubbling to the surface, before opening them and cursing out at her,

"You little _bitch_!" he exclaimed, his fingers swiftly moving from her jaw, where she was likely to bruise, and to her throat, shoving her against the cold bathroom tile directly behind her, the water at her feet sloshing noisily, mixing with the rough _thump_ as she collided with the wall, his hand on her throat. "Don't you _ever_ even _think _about-" There was only a seconds' warning- a flash of gold in her eyes- before he fell backward onto the bathroom floor, screaming in pain and holding his head as The Drums attacked him, full on- filling his skull with their deafening volume.

"NO!" Rose yelled, somehow clearly heard over them, her voice momentarily laced with Bad Wolf as she stepped out of the tub to stand over him, their roles reversed.

"Remember, _Master_, who took the drums _away_ in the first place!" She spat, shoving the crouched figure over with her bare foot, causing him to topple, still holding his head.

In an instant, without any precursor, the drums vanished, leaving his ears once more ringing in their absence; his breathing heavy and ragged.

"You _ever_ touch me again," Rose threatened, quietly, Bad Wolf no longer mingling, " and I'll make your life hell. I'll make sure that you don't jus' hear drums, but that they'll be so loud that you'll wish I never brought you back." She finished, walking around him to grab her bathrobe, slipping it on and tying it around herself, disregarding him completely until she heard a very unwelcome sound.

He was laughing.

The Master was still seated on the floor, though now, instead of sprawled, he was leaning against a cabinet comfortably, one leg bent, his arm resting on it, while the other was stretched out; laughing at her as though she had just said the funniest thing in the world.

"Oh, that's _clever_!" He praised, sounding absolutely delighted, "That's _really_ clever- didn't think you had it in you- but clearly I've underestimated you- or, rather, _Her_. Installed a nice little fail safe for you!" He announced, "Say the word, and _BAM_!" He yelled out the last word, popping back up to his feet in a movement so quick Rose's eyes couldn't follow, suddenly right in front of her again, "drums." He muttered, still grinning. "But you forget one thing, love..." He added, looking exaggeratedly to either side before leaning forward and whispering in her ear, "turnabout's fair play." And with that, he gripped her hair, _hard_, pulling tightly, Rose emitting a groan of distress before he once more witnessed the flash of gold, followed by a symphony of loud, merciless, drums. He chuckled, releasing her hair in an instant and jamming his fingers against her temple, connecting the two of them and, in the process, the drums. She screamed at the abrupt pain, falling forward slightly, with only The Master's firm grip on her temple to keep her upright, still grinning manically at her, her eyes glaring into his reproachfully, before relinquishing, the drums vanishing instantaneously; both sighing with relief and backing away from one another.

The two squared off in the tiny bathroom, eyes shooting daggers at one another, silent for a moment as the they collected themselves, before Rose spoke.

"So where does that leave us, then?" She asked, quietly, looking, more than anything, tired. The Master grinned, knowing she'd come to see his ways eventually- like anyone, all she needed was a bit of persuasion.

"We can either work with each other, or against- In a sense, owning a TARDIS is much like owning a wild horse. After you catch it, you still need to break its' will- show it who's in charge so that it will follow your instructions. Or else you'll find yourself like _Him_, with his TARDIS making the calls- a type 40 no less- _ancient_ and _still_ he allows it to boss him around!" He mused, before continuing lightly, "Or, you could simply cooperate. Quicker, but not nearly as much fun- and I'd _so_ enjoy _breaking_ you." He added, eyes glittering. Rose's eyes narrowed in response, crossing her arms.

"This is, of course, assumin' that I even _know_ how to control my abilities, yeah?" She asked, lightly, unphased by his threats. This, definitely, gave him pause- enough to stare at her in disbelief for a beat before inquiring, skeptically.

"Why should I believe that, when you landed us _here_ in the first place?" He asked, casually, but Rose, who had been spending the time he had been on his threatening tangent, zeroing in on his violently fluctuating emotions, had now pinpointed him, at the back of her mind, strengthened the connection by simple awareness alone, and could now interpret some of the more base emotions- one very clear one being uncertainty.

"I told you, I wasn't the one drivin'." Rose replied, impatiently, "This is the first time since Bad Wolf manifested that I've actually had _control_ of my own body!"

_Rage, Indignation, Resentment, and some Embarrassment at his own idiocy._

"So what you're telling me..." he asked, his voice once more deceptively calm, "Is that you have _no idea_ how to control your abilities? Or even _what_ they are, apart from a little bit of show tunes in my head or drums when I do something naughty?"

Rose nodded, silently.  
"Well isn't that brilliant?" The Master growled in irritation, "isn't that just _fucking_ fantastic?!" He angrily flung his arm out at the counter's contents, half used containers of toothpaste, toothbrushes and makeup flying every which way, half splashing into the still full tub while the others either landed heavily, or shattered on the bathroom floor. Rose didn't even flinch. Instead, she merely watched him, allowing him to take out his aggression, his emotions bouncing off and intermingled with hers', her mind subconsciously reaching out to his' and calming it- instantly causing him to freeze up and look directly at her, accusatory.

"That. Right there. What are you doing?"

Rose paused, frowning and looking back at him- her attention having gone to the floating tube of toothpaste that was slowly expelling its' contents into the tub.

"What? M'not doin' anything." She replied, confused.

"Yes, yes you _are._" He replied, impatiently walking over to her so that, once more, there was only a foot between them, his eyes staring directly into hers'. "You're reaching out to me...you can _feel_ me..." He observed- and suddenly, she could feel his mind reaching out to her's too- all harsh, jagged edges, pushing, rather than weaving his way through, as she had been doing. Rose _did_ flinch that time, at his abruptness. He chuckled.

"You little _minx_! You've been searching me out this entire time! Oh, you _are_ clever..." And for once, she didn't feel any negative connotations behind those words, he was again, once more observing her with innocent fascination, sans resentment. "How silly of me not to see..." He all but whispered, leaning in to better observe her, his eyes fixed on her own, "you're new..._so_ new... you're not a mare- you're a _foal_- you don't need to be _broken_, you need to be _taught_..." He backed away, straightening up, his voice no longer full of wonder but businesslike. "I'll need to do a full examination of you- see what exactly it is that causes your TARDIS-like properties, and how they can be honed and utilized." He paused, suddenly, looking off in thought, before turning his attention back to her. "But first- tell me you have _something_ edible in this place- with the combined amounts of arton energy we've been expelling and excessive cerebral stimulation, I'm surprised either of us are still standing." And with that, The Master turned, leaving the bathroom without another word, and leaving Rose staring vacantly at the place he had been occupying moments before.

Even with her previous experience keeping up with a Time Lord train of thought (and apparently, the none-too-uncommon mood swings that accompanied), The Master's own mindtrack was staggering and definitely something she would need to adjust to.


	6. Rose, Lily and Petal

"You git! You ate all the cheese!" Rose announced, dressed now in pink sweatpants and a pink top she was alarmed she'd _ever_ worn. It had felt odd...being back in her own room after so long. It was nostalgic, in the same sense as coming across old art projects created in grade school were- endearing, cute and embarrassing. Embarrassment being the primary emotion. To begin with, the sheer amount of pink had been staggering. She recalled, long ago, adoring the color- though at that moment, she couldn't, for the life of her, remember why.

She found her duffle bag right away.

It was surreal- recollecting it from so long ago- tossed aside on her bed, never to be washed. What bothered her _most_ though- intermingled with the scent of dirty clothes, was _it_- that indescribably, unearthly scent that she could only ever associate with two things: The TARDIS, and _Him_...

Her stomach flew to her throat at that scent, a rush of old, distant, feelings from her youth, flowing through her- like running into an old crush years later and finding that those emotions never really went away- but rather, hid.

Her Doctor stopped smelling like that after awhile.

No longer in close proximity with the Time Vortex, and living a human life in a partially human body, over time, that distinct tang that had always intermingled with machine oil, books and tea, vanished. She became accustom to its' absence and didn't even notice when it was gone- and only once, ever had it been brought up.

"_You smell like her..."_

"_Smell like who?" _

"_The TARDIS...I thought it was just from you being in the TARDIS at first, but it's getting stronger- you smell like her, more and more, every day." _

"_No, I think that's just your nose- it's goin' in your old age." _

"_Oi! I'll have you know Rose Tyler, that I am a fit, spry thirteen year old!" _

"_Ooh, should I be worried about some competition? Tony's classmates swarmin' you?" _

"_I think there may be a more serious matter we'll need to address first."_

"_Yeah? An' what's that?" _

"_All these new teenage hormones!" _

She had quickly shoved the duffle bag onto the floor, not having the energy to wash anything, and instead, settled with some clothes that had been shoved to the back of her closet; things that she was too embarrassed to even wear _then_, let alone now. But, she reasoned, the only person to see her would be the Time Lord in the other room, and after seeing her naked, she doubted there was anything left of her dignity intact.

"You're a terrible cook." The Master replied, leaning against the counter, hand in a tupperware container- the contents of which completely indiscernible. If the globs he was shoving into his mouth were anything to go by, it was some sort of casserole. Rose wrinkled her nose in disgust, turning her attention back to the fridge- a rather futile conquest.

"S'my mum's cooking, not mine. She's always been more of a 'take-out' person- only cooks on special occasions. Las' holiday was, what? Couple months ago? Can't imagine it's much fresher than that, she never cooks jus' for herself."

"Can't imagine why." The Master commented, dropping the half-full tupperware container into the sink with a look of repulsion. "And it was either that or the lovely assortment of weight-loss beverages that have taken up the entire refrigerator. Though, if you're anything to go by, they're certainly effective- I've seen starving children in third world countries fatter than you."

Rose ignored him in place of closing the fridge and turning to rifle through the counter drawers, pulling out a stack of take-out menus and setting them down on the counter with a flourish.

"There. Go ahead, order whatever y'like, my mum has loads of hiding spots for quid, should be enough to cover- s'not like she'll be usin' it." She mentioned offhandedly- the sting surprised her, not nearly as prominent as it had been before, but still there. She brushed it off quickly, turning to leave the room as The Master approached the menus with a grin.

"That's the first good idea you've had all night, Lily."

Rose glanced over her shoulder and smirked at his weak jibe.

"Two can play at that game, _Koschei_."

"Whatever you say, Petunia."

"Jus' hurry up and order something, _Harry_! 'M starvin'." She said, leaving the room before he could retort.

The Master closed his eyes as she left the room and listened as her footsteps continued down the hall and into where he had been directed earlier to shower- an activity he had to cut short in order to save his drowning TARDIS. He could still hear her footsteps, a hallway and closed door away, padding on the soft carpet and opening drawers, spilling contents onto a hard surface, and he relished it.

The drums were still there- miraculously gone, yes, without a trace- but an echo of them remained, like a song stubbornly stuck in your head- it was only to be expected; an entire lifetime- make that twelve lifetimes, a couple stolen bodies, and one human lifetime- of drums, followed by a hollowing, not altogether unwelcome absence. Bad Wolf had been right in stating that he needed something to fill that void, or else collapse into madness- or had _She_ said it? Not half difficult to keep up with. But either way, he had to give credit where credit was due- a new concept to him, but he was willing to be humbled by the embodyment of time itself- especially if she had offered up her services to eliminate his biggest nuisance. It had been brilliant- weed out the problem while he was still reforming, where it was so much easier to isolate- then replace it with another sound so that any attempts for the drums to re-instill themselves would be blocked as the space would be filled. And, if that wasn't genius enough- contain the source and imprison it, releasing it in a form of conditioning in order to protect her human vessel from receiving harm- and finally, and most elegantly, tying the two of them together so as to have not only her own human vessel (now with trace elements of TARDIS thanks to previous tampering), but a Time Lord tethered to her will as well, somehow managing to make it mutually beneficial to all parties.

Or so he perceived it. There was still the very important question of how much was truly 'Rose Tyler' and how much was 'Bad Wolf'. At first glance, he would perceive them as two entirely different entities, one simply inhabiting the other, but at a closer glance...

The song had worked wonders- it truly had. A warm, strangely comforting presence at the back of his mind replacing the hellish sound that had dwelled there before, slowly driving him mad.

That wasn't to say that he was now the image of perfect mental health.

When he looked at Rose Tyler, with her big doe eyes, her long golden hair and full pouty lips, did he envision cracking open her skull to take a peek at what exactly made her tick?

Of course he did.

Did he long to dive into her mind and rip open the door that concealed Bad Wolf so completely, just to see what would happen? Just to see if she truly would burn?

If doing so didn't unleash the drums on him again, he already would have.

In the end, the big difference, the giant change that prevented him, was that for the first time ever, he had the notion to reason why _not_ to. Without the drums at the back of his mind, constantly egging him on, constantly thrusting him into battle or seeking domination. But most of all, there no longer was that _drive_. That constant _need_ to keep going, the _come on...come on...come on...come on _that the drums instilled in their never ending chant. Their '_march to battle'_ as they had been called.

And maybe that had something to do with it too.

Knowing that perhaps those thoughts hadn't been his own- that this entire time, his _drive_, his _need_ to _scratch that itch_ hadn't been his own at all, but _theirs_.

And for the first time ever, he began to question, beyond that _need_, what it was, he truly _wanted._

Power.

He had always wanted that. Longed for it since he could comprehend the concept. However, now, _now, _that power had taken on a very clear form, and the itch was a new one now, an itch to delve into that mind of hers and see how she worked- to _make_ her work. To make that beautiful creature he had seen in all its' splendor, _his. _

Revenge.

Though he wondered, now, how likely of a course that would be? Revenge on whom, exactly? The Time Lords? If what he had been shown was correct, if what _He_ had said was true, then they had already received their reward, many times over- and were doing so eternally.

Revenge on _Him_? That seemed only natural. The only other drive he had had apart from the desire to control, was to seek out pain on _Him_. When their feud had started, he could no longer pinpoint. However, if _Her _words were true, then it seemed as though _He_ had met his end as well. She most certainly wouldn't be in his company if _her_ _Doctor_ was still out there. So what else was there? What else could he possibly want?

Freedom.

The answer was...unexpected. Not surprising, the moment it passed through his mind, he knew it was true. He had spent his entire life with a purpose, following one straight line or another; giving in to obsession, and never once stopping and questioning _why_? Or even considering the idea that there might be something else. Something _more_. What 'more' was at that moment, he had no idea, but the idea of just leaving, of _moving_- not knowing where exactly he was going or _why_, but just picking a direction and _going_.

That...

_That..._

That sounded quite a bit like someone else he knew.

Apart from one key difference.

He wasn't running.

He wasn't even _chasing_, not anymore.

He was simply _going._

Or planned to, he reminded himself, once he managed to remedy this particular predicament he found himself in.

His mind was brought back to the present with the distant sound of Rose Tyler dumping the contents of yet another container- this one sounded like it was made up of majorly coins- onto a hard surface. He blinked, eyes trailing over the take-out menus and opening up one at random, eyes only needing a second to glance over the page, before turning and locating the phone.

The phone call was quick- it would have been quicker if the stupid subservient human hadn't asked him to clarify his order in disbelief at the large quantity, then attempted to make small talk with him, but a few choice words from him had the man silenced- and likely contemplating the barrel of a gun if The Master's revival hadn't made him lose his touch- and promised a speedy delivery. He was _then _able to turn his attention to much more pressing matters, and left the kitchen in favor of the lounge- he recalled seeing what looked like a bezulium in there- and where there's smoke, there's fire. With that sound philosophy, and knowing human's predictability in hoarding things they found of value, locating more alien artifacts should be substantially simple.

"What the hell are you doin?!" Rose exclaimed as she walked into the lounge, where The Master currently resided at the dining table, sitting calmly, elbows propped up on its' surface, fingers steepled against his lips, staring fixedly at his collection. It wasn't _this_ that had Rose alarmed, but the general state of her living room. It looked as though a storm had blown through, couch cushions thrown about carelessly, books and magazines pulled from shelves and laying on the floor, television also on the ground, tilted on its' side and promptly gutted. From the looks of some of the contents on the table, which she recognized from her dresser, it was safe to assume that her room was likely in a similar state of disarray.

"Completely useless." The Master announced, his eyes not leaving the pile. "Utterly, positively, _worthless_. You could not possibly have a worse collection of miscellaneous _rubbish_." He proclaimed, irritably, sighing and then muttering: "I can't do _anything_ with this- I need _real_ tools, _real _technology- your Doctor must have left behind _something_ here! This can't be everything."

"I told you- didn't live here, jus' my mum- most of my stuff was on the TARDIS- only alien tech here was for her- so He made sure it was all completely harmless so she couldn't hurt herself."

The Master snorted at that.

"I am astounded he had enough patience, by the sounds of that woman. He didn't used to be so...sentimental."

"Yeah, well it happens t' the best of us." Rose grumbled, before continuing. "So _why_ have you torn apart my mum's living room? Looks like we've been robbed."

"You were correct in your previous assessment- there is absolutely _nothing_ worth stealing here." He sounded almost disappointed at that. "And as for why- I need to examine you- analyze your DNA- or TNA, so you claim- see how exactly your structure has been altered and better assess the situation."

Rose's slight flinch at the term 'examine' hadn't been lost on him- however, her next words were strong and calm, as though she hadn't.

"'ve already had loads of tests done-"

"Yes, I'm aware of that, but none had been done by _me_."

Rose looked at him skeptically but didn't retort as he had expected. Instead, she sighed, resigned, and answered in a weary tone:

"What d'you need?"

"Well some better technology, for starters- the twenty-first century is so..._archaic_- not designed for monitoring anything beyond the average human anatomical structure. Won't find anything useful until the 48th Century- when your lot started shagging everything that moves and creating hybrids-" He gave an exaggerated, weary sigh, leaning his head to one side and cradling it against his palm as he observed the heap. "What I'd give to have my laser screwdriver back- contrary to popular belief, it _had_ multiple functions- wasn't my fault if I had a favorite setting."

Rose frowned at him for a long moment, chewing her lip as she thought, eying him wearily, and he could _feel_ the moral dilemma- she really was an excellent projector- something they would need to fix with her new-found telepathy. Finally, she spoke, once more, resigned, as though she were already regretting her decision.

"I might know where we can get some..."

"Oh?" The Master replied, eyebrow arched, curiously. Rose nodded, looking down.

"But not _now_- an' even if I somehow managed t' get us to the right time, it won't be...easy- 'specially not with someone who's s'posta be dead, an' her good friend Harold Saxon-"

"Not exactly fans?" The Master teased.

"Not after your brief stint as Prime Minister, no."

The Master frowned, surprised.

"And who are these friends of yours- government, if they're even aware of my work." he concluded. Rose finally looked up to meet his penetrating gaze, her strong emotions rolling off her almost as powerfully as if she were speaking them herself- it was..._intoxicating_. He longed to dive into that mind- to rip open those doors and _force_ his way through every one-

But he resisted.

He doubted Bad Wolf would let him get far.

"Torchwood." Rose muttered the word, and he felt more than heard the tremble. Well, that certainly answered a few questions along with springing up quite a few more.

"Oohhh... of _course_. I forgot- you and the Freak Harkness were good friends way back when - heard it from the horse's mouth, as they say- or _saw_ it, rather- when I was in _his head_. Repulsive place- unspeakable, _vile_ thing- wouldn't want to taint your delicate mind by showing you, Tulip."

Rose snorted.

"We're still on that, are we? An' yeah, _Harry_- Jack, from Torchwood- an' I'm sure he'd like nothin' more than t' give you the same courtesy you gave him- shoot ya 'til you stop regeneratin'- how many would that be? It's my understandin' that this isn't your first go-round, yeah? So he's got at least another ten or eleven t' enjoy- unless, of course, you clock out early." Rose said, casually, The Master grinning at her threats. He could feel the anger and passion coming from them- those, he could definitely work with.

Given time.

"And how, exactly, would we go about retrieving the needed supplies from what I'm assuming is the heavily guarded Torchwood Archive?" The Master asked

Rose shrugged, unconcerned.

"Jack'd help me- s'more _you_ I'm worried about. He'd be mad if he didn't shoot you on sight."

The Master chuckled, leaning back in his chair. His retort, however, was interrupted by a sudden knocking on the door. Rose turned her attention away from him and walked over to the door, opening it and greeting- what turned out to be two chinese food, delivery men, both carrying an abundance of very large bags, piled high with containers. After a brief interval, in which Rose quickly assisted the poor workers in getting the food in the flat- no thanks to The Master- paid them, adding a generous tip, and bid them farewell, turning to stare accusatory at the man across the table, who was attempting to spin the bezulium on said table, like a top.

"When I said 'anythin', I didn't mean t' buy out th' entire restaurant!"

"It's actually a lot less than I expected." He observed, having finally risen from his place at the table and walked over to where the bags and bags full of chinese food containers rested. Rose looked up at him incredulously.

"What? Seriously?"

"Metabolism is particularly active after regeneration- everything's still settling down for the next twenty-four hours, so retaining sustenance is particularly difficult." The Master replied, grabbing a few bags in each hand and carrying them over to the table.

"For you, maybe." Rose retorted, carrying the remainder of the bags over.

"You'd be surprised, Petal."

"Petal?" Rose replied, smirking skeptically. The Master shrugged, pulling the containers out of the bag and opening them up to examine their contents.

"Can't think of any other flowers at the moment." He supplied, offhandedly.

"Rose? Maybe?" Rose offered, sarcastically. The Master made a noise of distaste.

"Too easy."

"Yeah, 'cos Petal's real clever."

The Master, again, ignored her, in favor of grabbing a plate and silverware from the kitchen, his attention now solely on the food. The scent wafted through the tiny flat and Rose, too, was taken in, her stomach growling loudly in response- earning her a smirk from The Master as he shoveled anonymous mounds of food onto his plate. Rose sighed, realizing she had no idea how long it had been since she'd had actual, _real, __**solid**_ food; and made her way to the kitchen, noting that The Master hadn't thought to grab another plate and fork for _her._

After fetching her own plate and utensils, she turned and opened the fridge again, searching in vain for a stash of soda cans she knew was hidden somewhere in the back. She was vaguely aware of a loud amount of banging and crashing coming from the lounge- and winced at the sound- she didn't want to think about what he was getting up to in there to entertain himself.

Rose sighed, rolling her eyes. She supposed she needn't really worry too much about him making a mess- after all, it's not like anyone would be returning here except a cleaning crew. Her eyes caught the familiar glint and she reached behind an unopened six-pack of bright pink energy drinks to find three stray soda cans left. She grinned in triumph, grabbing one, then, after a brief consideration, grabbed a second; straightening, and setting them on top of her plate beside her silverware as she walked over to the containers.

By the time she had filled her plate, the banging and crashing had turned to buzzing and what sounded like static. Rose frowned, and found herself pausing at the entryway to the lounge in surprise, to see The Master crouched down next to the upturned television, a grimace on his face as he reconnected wires- the television screen being the source of the sounds as it varied between static and a multicolored, striped screen. He was muttering curses under his breath every once in awhile- banging on the top in frustration, then pulling out wires rather violently, only to put them back in, in a different order- until, finally, a picture appeared on the screen. The Master made a sound of triumph, setting the television right side up on its' stand, and grabbed his plate of food from the ground; bounding over the coffee table and into the armchair- reminding her of a child- yet, despite all lack of grace, he somehow managed not to spill a single drop of food.

"You fixed the telly." Rose stated, blankly as she stared at the now perfectly crisp picture. In fact, he seemed to have managed not only to repair it, but somehow fixed the picture quality it had been lacking for years.

"Ah! Pansy! You're back!" The Master exclaimed, enthusiastically; before stuffing his face with rice and noodles- which didn't stop him in the slightest from talking, as he continued: "'coursh I fix'd id!" He swallowed, eying the second soda Rose had tucked in the crook of her arm. She found herself rolling her eyes again, before setting her own plate down on the coffee table and tossing it to him. He caught it with ease; popping open the lid and taking a long swig before continuing. "Hate to disappoint you chrysanthemum, but I wasn't too keen on the idea of us sitting around, swapping stories- though, if you _are_ interested- I have a lovely one about a judoon who bore a striking resemblance to your mum-"

Rose did her best to ignore him, and instead, focused all her attention on shoving the couch cushions back into the sofa (since he had neglected to do so), admittedly showing them a bit more aggression than deemed necessary; mentally cursing herself out the entire time, wondering _why_ she had suddenly gone mad and thought that reviving _The Master_ was such a good idea.

"Precisely what I've been telling you this entire time, Daisy!" The Master chimed in, answering her unspoken musings. She opened her mouth to retort, not completely certain _what_ she planned to say, however The Master interrupted.

"I remember this!" He exclaimed in delight, taking another sip from the soda, before setting it down and continuing, motioning at the screen, while glancing at her proudly. "Found an entire archive hidden away at BBC1 during my reign-"

"We're not watchin' cartoons." Rose replied, rolling her eyes and reaching for the remote; only for The Master to snatch it up first- tutting at Rose and shaking his head patronizingly; before leaning back in the armchair and scooping up another mountain of food- stuffing it in his mouth before he continued.

"Durin' my tme s' Prime Min'ster f' Britain an' Wurld Lead'r f' th' huumn race, I lrned a very impornt' lessn." He swallowed, and took another swig, before continuing. "Do you know what that was, Petal?"

"I honestly have absolutely _no_ idea." Rose replied, wrinkling her nose in disgust at him and shifting in her seat so she didn't have to watch.

The Master pressed on, unphased by her lack of enthusiasm.

"There are only two things worth watching on the telly: Cartoons, and The News. So unless you'd like to get a refresher on- what was it? The '_Canary Warf Travesty'_?- which, I would be more than happy to oblige- " He paused, innocently- only to be met an icy glare. "No? Cartoons it is then!"

Rose sighed in defeat, shifting away from him again on the couch; her eyes only briefly straying to observe the petulant Time Lord, who had lost interest in her again in favor of the telly. It hadn't escaped her notice that The Master having taken the seat that _He_ used to occupy. It was strange, being in such a familiar setting, with this monster- _His_ worst enemy- save, perhaps, the Daleks- sprawled out in an almost identical pose- long legs hanging over an arm, plate of food balanced on his stomach while he twisted around to view the screen; commenting and criticizing every little thing. He seemed just as incapable of sitting still- or shutting up as _He_ had, on the occasions that they had stopped by her mum's house during a break from their travels. And she could see it, then- as he casually watched the telly, having quickly gotten bored of cartoons and switched it to some late night talk show(contrary to his grain of wisdom priorly expressed) his laugh a bark of delight- what had been inconceivable before. That at one point, they really _could _have been, and _were_ friends...

At about three in the morning, Rose found herself incapable of keeping her eyes open any longer- and instead, made her way to her room (after warning The Master not to go through anymore of her mum's stuff- and to leave the television, the microwave, the coffee maker and the curtains alone- to which he looked slightly taken aback from surprise- then resentful).

She mused, as she collapsed on her bed (after tripping a few times over items The Master had left strewn all over the floor and finding a path _to_ said bed), how much smaller her room seemed than it had before. Perhaps it was the years of living in the TARDIS- or more likely, it was the years afterward, living in that enormous bedroom in Pete's Mansion; or even later, in a house of her own, staring up at the night sky in the loft _they _shared together- having that quiet, babbling brook voice, wash over her with facts about each and every star- delighted whenever He came across one He didn't know. She had grown so accustomed to that voice beside her, still going a million miles an hour, right up until sleep.

Yes, her room certainly felt small now.

Tiny.

Tiny and silent- the walls closing in on her as the silence pressed down, making it incredibly hard to breathe-

"You stupid bint! Of _course_ he's the father!" The Master's voice exclaimed from the other room, interrupting her thoughts. It was followed by a few more profane exclamations, and another loud bark of laughter.

'_No- come off it! Of _course _he's the father- look at the noses, Rose!"_

Rose snorted, quietly, a small smile sliding onto her face; turning over in bed- tears soaking into the pillow, trying her hardest to get to sleep.


	7. A House Warming

There was a brief moment, that morning, waking up in her old bed- where she found herself easily believing that everything, up until that point, had been an incredibly lengthy, vivid and elaborate dream.

It hadn't been the first time.

Since she had started traveling with The Doctor, every time she would stay over at her mum's, she would wake up with that sensation, the second she found herself in her bedroom.

It had been her worst fear for a long time. The idea that everything she had seen had been nothing more than a figment of her imagination- that all of those incredible sights- and more importantly, that incredible _man_- had been nothing more than a detailed fabrication created by her subconscious in the middle of the night, so that she could momentarily escape her mundane, boring life.

This time, however, the first emotion she felt when waking, wasn't fear- but _relief_.

Relief that she was safe in her own room- that there had been no Doctor, no TARDIS- no Canary Warf; and that her mum was right outside in the lounge- watching her stupid daytime telly, and only five minutes away from bursting in, flipping on the lights and telling her to get up and get ready for work.

Her relief, however, was interrupted by a knock at the door- not her door, but the front door; which opened, a distinctly male voice greeting whoever had opened it.

Rose's stomach growled.

She had no idea how she could smell the pizza from there, but the minute the door creaked open, she could- her stomach responding in such a fierce way that she would have thought she hadn't been responsible for clearing up half of the chinese from the night prior.

Without much thought, she sprung out of bed- offhandedly wondering how late she had slept for (only to subconsciously inform herself that she had been asleep successfully for four hours, twenty six minutes and nineteen seconds) and struggled momentarily to forge a pathway through the chaos that was currently her room.

She yawned as she staggered out into the living room- hearing, rather than seeing, the door to the flat close and approached the dining room sleepily; mind still in a pleasant enough haze that she half expected to find her mum in the kitchen, preparing her morning tea.

What she really found there effectively dumped a bucket of ice water onto her aforementioned haze; shame and embarrassment for even having nurtured a tiny pathetic, flickering shard of hope that she would find anything to the contrary, swiftly taking its' place.

"Have I mentioned yet, that you're a spectacular projector?" The Master asked, casually, as he opened up the top of three pizza boxes; not caring enough to grab a plate, but instead, pulling out a slice and devouring it like a man who hadn't eaten for weeks. The entire sight was a bit repulsive- yet somehow, her appetite wasn't lessened in the slightest.

"Sorry?" Rose replied with an irritated frown.

"Oh nothing to apologize for, Petal- it's incredibly enjoyable- however, I would suggest you learn to control it- don't want other's swimming around in there, do you?"

"An' why would you care?" Rose replied with bite in her voice (noting that he had returned to his default name for her). The Master chuckled at the misplaced aggression.

"Because I don't want others rifling around in your head either." He replied, coolly, reaching for another slice. Rose snorted.

"Only you?"

"Precisely." He agreed, as though it were obvious, "Only me." Rose opened her mouth to angrily retort, when The Master- seeming to anticipate this, chose that moment to shove the slice of pizza he had just selected, into it.

"Oi!" Rose exclaimed, indignantly, around the pizza; sputtering and coughing as she grabbed at it, all the while scowling at him reproachfully. The Master paid her little mind, instead, carrying on to the next topic of interest as though nothing had happened.

"I'd get a move on if I were you- ten twenty-eight AM and we've got places to be!" He paused, looking her up at down with an expression that held more than a little amusement, and added: "and best find something more dignified to wear than that, unless there's some sort of Torchwood protocol I'm missing?" snickering. It was only at that moment that Rose realized he had changed out of the clothes she had provided him with that morning and into, what appeared to be a rather expensive, custom tailored suit. Complete with tie and new shoes.

"Where'd you get that?" She found herself asking in disbelief, earning her a wide grin from The Master.

"Harold Saxon has a tailor down in the Financial District. All I had to do was show up, demanding a new suit, and I was fitted with one at once- they'll be billing it to my secretary. Nice girl- if a bit incompetent. Never caught that I was billed for one more suit than I'd ordered."

"An' you what? _Walked_ there? Or did Harold Saxon use the tube?" Rose criticized.

"Noh nheed!." The Master proclaimed, proudly- or as proud as one could be with half of a slice of pizza shoved into his mouth. "Hrold Sax'n also 'as four pers'nal drivers-" He swallowed and wiped his mouth with his thumb, "helps when you're concerned about paparazzi and assassination plots. Also helps if there's more than one of you roaming the city and you need a lift."

"An' you're not at all afraid that you might get caught?" Rose chastised and The Master snorted.

"I find it endearing that you worry about me, Lilac. But it's not the first time I've assisted myself in the past...or future." He added with a wink. Rose rolled her eyes, and grabbed another slice of pizza, having finished her first.

"Why'm I _starving_?" She exclaimed in exasperation after she'd managed to scarf that one down quicker than the last.

"Already told you- with that amount of arton energy- and in your case, huon energy- thrown about; I'm surprised you were still standing after Bad Wolf had her way with you."

"And you." Rose pointed out with a smirk of her own.

"Ten thirty-four Orchid- best get going if you want to wear anything besides that lovely little number- and judging by the tents I found in your mum's bedroom, you won't be fitting into those anytime soon."

Rose chose to glare reproachfully at him instead of countering, an action that might have been more effective if she hadn't moments prior chosen to tackle an entire third slice of pizza in one go.

"Ooh that's it- come on, let me have it- I can _feel_ it- all of that _rage_-" The Master inhaled leisurely, eyes rolling to the back of his head and groaning in a rather lewd fashion, before his eyes fell back down to meet her's- sparkling maliciously.

Rose- knowing that if she didn't leave the room that minute she would likely end up regenerating him herself- opted to grab yet another slice of pizza and headed for her bedroom, the sound of chuckling following her as she departed.

Something was wrong.

Two hours, thirteen minutes and eleven seconds.

That was how long it had taken his less-than-cooperative Tardis to deem herself ready to go (why she felt the need to tidy up in that piss-poor flat, that they'd likely never again be returning to, he had no idea. It seemed to be a female, instinctive habit. Lucy used to do it as well. And she'd had _servants_.)

There had been very little ceremony (albeit a few false starts, with his Tardis once again expressing doubts about her capabilities and The Master impatiently countering that the most accurate assessment of said capabilities would come from actually _acting_ on them- which shut her up quickly enough).

She simply walked back into the small lounge- now dressed in attire that likely belonged to her _much_ younger teenaged self- baggy, ripped jeans and simple gray top hanging off her so loosely, she might as well have draped herself in her mother's clothes afterall- and announced they should go, as if he _hadn't_ spent the duration of that time waiting and watching the television (and the only enjoyment he'd gotten out of _that_ had been briefly seeing himself during the news channel's coverage of the Canary Warf Memorial Service. He really _was_ a spectacular public speaker).

"Right. M'ready." She announced, observing The Master, who had chosen to sprawl across the couch this time; Armani, leather shoes propped over an arm, head lolling to the side as he stared at the television vacantly. It was astounding- no wonder humans had such short attention spans- with the speed at which the screen panned around to different angles and scenes, watching even an hour of it could damage the human mind irreparably. He was beginning to understand the appeal of the Human Race more and more- never had he known of another species that was so incredibly masochistic.

His Tardis- hypocritically impatient now that _she_ had finished all that _she_ had wanted to do- took his lack of response as due to the television, and chose, instead of perhaps asking whether or not _he_ was ready, to walk in front of the electronic device that had given him far more enjoyment than an entire thirteen hours and twenty six minutes had managed in _her _company.

He wondered briefly if he _should_ have let her drown…

"F'you want, I could jus' leave you here and figure out all this Tardis stuff on my own." His Tardis stated impatiently when he had shown no intentions of moving.

"And risk me terrorizing this planet again? Come now, we both know you wouldn't do that, Petal." The Master replied, boredly. Rose snorted.

"Leave you stranded, wif'out any sort of technology or transportation? What could you _possibly_ do."

"Well..." The Master sighed, as though contemplating, seriously. "The last time I was stranded on Earth, I became Prime Minister and took over the world within the year." He pointed out, shifting and sitting up, eyes locked onto her with malicious intent. "You forget, I'm already roaming around, this very second, building my credibility. If you left me here, it would be easy enough to find myself and assure my success this time around."

"So why're you commin' with me then?" Rose asked, folding her arms in front of her chest and leaning against the television, observing him in a manner he found he didn't like. The Master shrugged, apathetically.

"Owning my own human-shaped Tardis sounded more appealing...though I believe I understand now, why The Time Lords chose _not_ to include a system response function." He added, eyes narrowed. Rose disregarded him, other than an eye roll (she seemed rather fond of that action when it came to him and he was just about ready to pop them out.).

"Well then, f'you're still interested, m' leavin now." She stated, straightening up and walked towards him- then, did the absolute last thing he had expected, and held out her hand.

He stared at it, skeptically, for a moment; before he found himself standing and grabbing it- much like he had in her head.

Her hand was surprisingly rough.

Not what you'd expect, given her appearance.

He turned it in his own, eyes tracing over it. It was so small compared to his. The pale skin criss-crossed with scars- faded from time, but not lost. They were battle scars- he knew them well. While his time actively fighting in the Time War was short, he had seen his share of battles- bore similar scars- and had seen more than enough as Professor Yana. He could effortlessly identify the difference between a blaster burn, a knife's slash, and a sonic pulse. She had all three.

What surprised him most, however, was that she allowed him to observe her. To grab her hand and shift it around, curiously, without comment. She showed no fear at his touch- no more so than he did her's. If anything, both of them were equally unsure of _how_ to react to touch. After all, he could hardly remember the last time someone had voluntarily _wanted_ to touch him. Someone who wasn't Lucy, that is. Lucy had been a fool, who was unaware of what he was capable of. What _touch_ for a Time Lord meant.

The quiet presence that had made itself scarce in the back of his mind, flared into life. And from the expression on His Tardis' face, it seemed that it had done the same for her.

And suddenly, it was as though they were on the exact same page.

They didn't speak.

There was no need.

Instead, there was only the briefest of glances.

An inquiry and a consent.

There was little warning.

Only a flash of gold behind Her eyes, and a sudden warmth that spread from her hand to his'.

Then everything dissolved around him in an explosion of light...

But _now,_

Something was _very_ wrong.

The warmth that had initially surrounded them; flooding from their joined hands and coursing throughout his entire body, began to prickle. The prickle shortly spiking into pain- piercing every nerve in his body- as though literally ripping him apart.

Regeneration, while similar, had never been quite as bad as _this._

The heat that flowed through him continued to rise- reaching a boil and it was as though his very skin had begun to melt off.

Light shone through The Master's closed eyelids and he strained to keep them shut- afraid that the light would burn right through if he so much as squinted.

But all of this- every last bit of agonizing pain- he could handle. All of it, he could endure, and planned to continue enduring, even if it threatened to rip him apart. That was, until:

-**ba-da-da-dum- -ba-da-da-dum- -ba-da-da-dum- -ba-da-da-dum-**

And then he screamed.

The Master's eyes shot open and he found himself immediately invaded by a blinding, white hot light, searing straight into his sockets. The Master's scream rose to a howl as The Drums returned, pounding away madly- a cacophony of sound bursting through his mind, light tendrils that he had once viewed as beautiful, licking and scorching his skin like flames. He shut his eyes- or attempted to- however, the light seemed as inescapable as The Drums; assaulting his body as The Drums assaulted his mind.

He couldn't breathe- he couldn't _think_- he could only _feel_- and it was _killing_ him.

As he adjusted, however, he became aware of another sound- harmonizing with his own, and the hot poker in his hand that surpassed the heat of his entire body. His mind was catching up now- recollecting where exactly he had been before he found himself in this hell- and he began to identify, what exactly that other sound was.

His Tardis was screaming.

A wail of complete and absolute pain and suffering.

From any other source- he might have taken pleasure. In fact, from _her_ he might have taken pleasure- if her pain hadn't been magnified and reflected into his own, due to The Bond.

He could feel it now- her blazing hand as it twitched in his, and if he squinted, he could just make out a silhouette, drowned in light and gold, writhing less than a foot away.

Bonds were never _meant_ to be hostile.

Quite the contrary. A Bond was the joining of two minds into one- an incredibly strong and, as much as he loathed to admit it, intimate union. It had at one time become a common practice between Mated Time Lords, but initially, the forging of The Bond had been created specifically for Capsules.

Capsules originated from a unique plant that was native to Gallifrey and Gallifrey alone. They were sentient, time-sensitive, and excellent conductors for the Time Stream, however, they were completely immobile and spent the entirety of their ineffably long lives merely watching Time flow by.

Much like the Time Lords had, long ago.

It was only logical that the Time Lords would find a way to utilize their capabilities; and soon, learned to harvest these massive plants, when a couple thousand years ripe, and use them to construct ships.

Their close connection to the Time Stream, and their sentience, made them the perfect vessel- and The Bond had been created, merely as the most efficient way to pilot.

The Time Lords, however, hadn't accounted for the Capsule's _heart_. The absolute core of the ship- the thing that _made_ them sentient and simultaneously channeled all of their power, The Time Stream flowing straight through. The Bond became so much more than the Time Lords had expected. For a Bond, they found, between a Time Lord and a Capsule was more powerful than any other bond between any other two creatures could ever be. They became duel and a single consciousness all in one. Unbreakable and impenetrable- a Capsule's loyalty to the Time Lord they bonded with was for life- and no other could _ever_ possibly even _conceive_ to destroy or replace that bond once a Capsule had latched on.

Throughout years of travel, communication and a natural close connection, The Bond only strengthens; and is only ever broken in death- more often than not, by the Time Lord- after which, The Capsule, incapable of complete death from a severed Bond alone, loses the will to live, and shuts down.

Early on, the Time Lords found this particular feature beneficial.

With such a strong bond, thievery was almost unheard of (though, as The Master had proven once or twice, not impossible), and if one _were_ to break in, the sentience of the ship (generally) prevented their piloting of it. However, Time Lords soon became aware of the disadvantages of a sentient ship (such as independence from the pilot) and over the years, the more advanced models became far more limited in sentience- some with none at all- and no bond was required from the pilot.

However, the _biggest _disadvantage that the Time Lords had aimed to eliminate and could now only be found in The Bond, was the reciprocation that resulted from the joining of minds. More specifically- the reciprocation of _pain_- pain, which, The Master, at that very moment, was suffering from now- both his own, which was unfavorable enough, but also that of his Tardis; as, he surmised, her little quirk of an all-powerful, supposedly 'dormant', personified Goddess of Time, attempted to force its' way to the surface- burning up its' vessel in the process and threatening to either result in them crashing or disintegrating into the Time Vortex.

Despite the searing pain, The Master focused all of his attention on his hand, and, in turn, the connection. It didn't take long to surmise that he needed to take over if they had any chance of survival and desperately forced all of his will and focus on that pain- because that pain was the only part of the Bond he could feel anymore.

To his surprise, it wasn't long before he became fully aware of it again- and it was as though there was a physical tether from his mind to hers', a lead guiding him to her- and he followed it; pulling as hard and as fast as he possibly could, until, like breaking through the surface of an ocean, having spent centuries drowning- he burst through her mind.

And just like breaking the surface of a body of water, to hungrily swallow the oxygen above- did he thrive in her mind. It truly _was_ a breath of fresh air to one severely suffering from asphyxiation. And he was sucked down whole.

The only other time he had ever been in her mind- _truly_ been deep down, to its' very _core_, had been prior to their bond. It had been enjoyable in its' own respect- however, _then_ he had been a guest- there had been a distinct separation and he had been temporarily permitted to occupy the space, nothing more. Granted, there had been the _briefest_ of touches, just once- when she had be poking around in his mind and he felt the need to return the favor. It had been a mere skim- and that _taste_ had only instilled a desire for _more. _

_This_, though...now _this_ was _intoxicating_.

The Bond assured that he was welcomed in her mind- her (in his opinion, feeble) mental barriers stepping aside for him- not only that, they weren't just stepping aside, they were _pulling_ _him in_. Deeper and deeper, until he was completely _immersed_ in _Her_ and _oh_ there was absolutely no experience that could quite compare to _that_ sensation. Centuries of forcing himself on others- pushing through their barriers and implanting himself, like a tumor, into their consciousnesses- _paled_ in comparison to this experience.

The power in her _pulsated_- wrapping around his mind, her Song _surging _through him, shaking him to his core in the most pleasurable, _seductive_ way.

And for a moment, he was completely mesmerized.

The Drums, however, interrupted his bliss- their relentless, thunderous beat, crashing over him, and forcing him back to the present situation. The pain was still sharp- only dulled by the absence of his consciousness in his own body- and still stung. He could see it- pure white tendrils, twisted around and strangling the fuchsia strands- dripping down the walls of her mind and sprawling across the hallways like vines.

He had been wrong, this wasn't simply Bad Wolf anymore- though she was abundantly present, waves of gold, hacking away at the white tendrils in an attempt to save the fragile pink- no, this was far worse than Bad Wolf- this was an _infestation_. And an infestation of something far worse.

The Time Vortex was literally tearing her apart.

The Master grasped for his bearings- pulling his consciousness, which had been gradually drifting apart, forcefully back together, into a full being. He had to get control of this situation- and _fast_. He doubted she had much time left- and he was more than a little certain that if she didn't _he_ had even less.

His eyes traced over the walls, eying the strands. A large bunching was currently blocking the only doorway. He made his way towards it, stretching his hand out experimentally, only to retract it almost instantly at the burn. He scowled, regathering himself once more. He could feel it all- coursing throughout him as though _he_ were experiencing it personally.

And then it hit him.

An idea so risky and insane that even _he_ was questioning his sanity in the matter. But he saw very little choice.

So he called out to Her.

He felt the energy that surrounded him stiffen- halting to attention- and for once, he could acknowledge briefly that that feeling in the pit of his corporeal gut was most probably fear.

And then She _responded. _

Suddenly, the golden strands that had been trying their best to rip away at each individual splotch of white, drifted together; coiling at his feet. He could feel the heat radiating off of Her as she rose; a shapeless mass, gathering content where there was no form- rising to surround him and encase him.

Bad Wolf didn't pause for instruction.

There was no need.

Such was The Bond.

Instead, the energy continued to coil around him, until he found himself embodying the power and reaching once more for the door. The tendrils recoiled with ease, and he gained entry. He would have laughed in delight if he held a voice- shouted in euphoria as he felt the pure, unadulterated _power_ seep into _him_. And at any other moment, he would have- but he had no time to do more than process the presence of energy he did not have prior- and used it as momentum- propelling him forward.

He burst through door after door with ease- twisting and turning, already knowing precisely what he was looking for. After all, if her mind was modeled after The Tardis- it only stood to reason that somewhere in the center would be...

Bad Wolf seemed to know specifically what he was looking for, for suddenly he found himself no longer pulling, but being swept up by the current; gently but firmly pushed back and forth down hallways and through doors until he found himself toppling into the largest room he had come across, and right in its' very center:

The Tardis Console.

Not only that, but, of course, a _perfect replica_ of _The Doctor's_ Tardis Console.

Now this, _this_ he could do.

Taking lead from his intention, Bad Wolf once more spread out before him, once again shifting into a dozen golden tendrils, all reaching out to separate segments of the console; working together as extra hands. The Master quickly followed suit; hurrying over and placing his own hands over the dials- turning them and flipping switches in a mad race against the clock- eyes scanning over the controls and making a few final adjustments, confirming the location and praying to Omega that he landed somewhere within the same century, before wrenching down the lever and calling the Time Rotor into life.

The entire room jerked and shook spastically, flooding with a perfect audio replication of the appropriate sounds one would expect from _His_ Tardis. The Master found himself grinning madly as he stared up at the Time Rotor in triumph; the room once again shaking violently- this time so severely that it knocked him off of his conscience-projected feet.

The jerking began to grow more volatile, and The Master found his face falling as he observed Bad Wolf, sliding away from the console and again approaching him- wrapping around him once more- but instead of filling him as it once had, it kept its' corporeal form; and twisted it's tendrils like ropes around his ankles and wrists. He tried to fight back, shifting and struggling, but now that it was no longer cooperating with him, he grew to realize just how _strong_ Bad Wolf truly was- and was helpless to stop her when she saw fit to forcefully _drag_ him out of the Console Room- and through the doorways from whence he came- building up momentum as she yanked him through door after door- once more forming a type of wave as she swiftly pulled him further and further away, to his incessant protests- and he could visibly feel it as he was guided to the outer levels- finding himself furious and also slightly distressed as he grew more and more distant, the pain and drums, simultaneously growing more and more prominent- until he was once more thrust into that inferno- plunged back under water having only just caught his breath- the pain sharp and fresh, The Drums a cacophony that threatened to split his head open.

The entire experience took place in a matter of seconds- but later, The Master would have sworn that his combined lifetimes had been shorter.

As it were- one moment, he was writhing in complete hellish agony...

And the next, he had collided sharply with a cold, hard, solid surface.

He gasped and coughed, feeling as though his lungs had been filled with sand; his entire being trembling as he blinked rapidly- his vision spinning. He didn't know if they had made it, and at that moment, he didn't care. All he cared about was that the unbearable, unrelenting pain had subsided, to be replaced with a dull throb that seemed to span his entire body.

It took him a moment to realize that he was on his back- and that he was currently staring up at a red and orange sky.

From that, and the very slight cloud coverage, he could deduce that he had either landed on:

A: Gallifrey. Which, due to the fact that it was presently, and _permanently_ stuck in a time lock, made that conclusion extremely unlikely.

Or:

B: They were on Earth. Early dawn, by the looks of it.

The Master let out a long, heavy sigh of relief; closing his eyes and letting the silence wash over him...

Except that it wasn't silent.

**-ba-da-da-dum- -ba-da-da-dum-**

The Drums were still present, loud as ever- as though they had never left.

And _where_ was that blasted _Wolf_ who had promised otherwise?

The Master managed to swivel his head around, turning it to one side at the sound of coughing.

Oh, well that was just _brilliant_.

There she was, twitching and convulsing on the ground beside him- lit up like a fucking _Christmas tree!_

And he was starting to get the feeling that the, now difficult to ignore, pain that hummed and throbbed through his body- still wasn't exclusively _his_ alone.

The glowing and convulsing, he noticed, only seemed to be getting worse; and the worse it got, the more difficult he found it to focus on anything _but_ the throbbing pain. He supposed that he should crawl over to her and figure out how to _stop_ it, but his vain attempts at moving proved entirely fruitless- as did moving his head, now that it was tilted to one side. His breathing was still ragged and shallow- his hearts pumping in time with The Drums. If this was Hell, then apparently he had just hit the final circle since his revival from that ring.

Just as he was readying himself for attempt #2 to stop her from her seizure- footsteps and voices could be heard:

"_They're over here!_" The first called, and there was something strikingly familiar about it- though he couldn't quite place _what_.

The footsteps grew nearer, and a blurry figure obstructed his view of The Wolf as they knelt down beside her, before speaking.

"She's absorbed too much of the Time Vortex- She's going into shock- Bad Wolf's taking over, trying to repair the damage- I need to get in there. Jack?"

"Right." The second voice replied, and The Master could feel someone grabbing him and lifting him up- his head flopping to the side, His Tardis and the first figure no longer in view. "What happened?" The second voice- apparently The _Freak's_, unless they just so happened to come across _another_ human with that name- asked, sounding panicked.

"First time in the Time Stream- didn't have an extrapolator shield."

"Geezus." Jack replied in hushed exclamation.

The Drums abruptly vanished without warning, once more leaving The Master to blissful (relative) silence.

The Master let out another sigh- it seemed all he was capable of doing, and heard a slight grunt, before the second figure came into view, His Tardis cradled in their arms- no longer glowing, apart from her hair, and looking to be unconscious. His attention, however, had veered away from her, to the person carrying her- who happened to be the absolute last person he would have expected to see:

Hardly had recognition struck him when the small fragment of strength he seemed to be holding onto vanished, and The Master promptly passed out.


End file.
